


Crownless

by Elane_in_the_Shadows



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mild Smut, One Shot, Sexual Content, Short Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elane_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Elane_in_the_Shadows
Summary: Compilation of short stories taking place after the end of Red Queen or in the margins of King's Cage.These are the happy (ending) stories.





	1. Awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _During KC. The complicated relationship of Farley and her father_

**It was late** afternoon when the colonel finally knocked on the door. He'd waited for the Barrows to leave, had avoided to get involved in a conversation, but now, he didn't have to wait for a "come in" from inside the room; as it took mere seconds for the door to be slammed open. Diana stood on the threshold, upright and frowning, as if it was a day like any other.

_Of course_ , he thought, she had Silver healers and a strong constitution allowing her to be up and about just hours after giving birth. He needn't have worried.

Her expression softened. "Oh, finally you're showing up too?" she said sarcastically. Before he could answer, she beckoned him to be quiet. "Come in," she prompted.

He followed her over to the cot with the new born where Diana remained standing. Slowly, gently, she started to caress the sleeping baby's little arm, as if drawn to it.

"It's a healthy girl," she said to break the silence.

"I've heard," the colonel answered, thus earning himself Diana's glare.

"Then you've heard her name's Clara, too?" she sneered, but calmed in a flash. She glanced at the baby to see if she was still asleep, then lowered her blushing head while he had to stop himself from gaping.

"Oh." He didn't know what to say but realized she expected a reaction from him. He moved closer, overcoming his hesitation, and touched his daughter's shoulder. "It's a good choice of name. And congratulations, General."

She stared at him, full of disbelief, until she sat down on her own bed.

_She's probably more exhausted than she lets on_. He gave her a moment and turned to his grandchild. She was a chubby one which reminded him both of Madeline and Diana as babies. Yet he wondered what Diana saw when she looked at her. Most likely the child's deceased father. Past grieves adhered to both of them.

He pondered on telling her how little Clara resembled her mother and her aunt when Diana spoke herself.

"Thank you." She meant it. Despite taking almost a minute to reply, her gratitude was truly honest. Maybe that was why it was so difficult to express.

Before the silence settled down again, Diana jumped up as the baby woke up. She didn't cry and only grabbed her mother's fingers stroking her. It was a beautiful sight. Diana's usually scowling face changed profoundly, displaying besottedness and a certain nervous insecurity.

He cleared his throat. "Maybe you should have someone else take care of her the first night. You might need one more time of restful sleep."

She merely sighed deeply. "As you bring it up, I have to inform you I'll be absent from our councils, I assume for about a week." She shrugged and picked up Clara, still awake, from the cot. She struggled a few seconds to get the right hold on the moving baby, then starting rocked her and sat down again. "I need some time for the two of us."

"I see." He considered adding, "yes ma'am", but figured he couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice which would only anger her. It was too much to ask to cross the distance between them which had been built up for years. Diana's recent promotion to outrank him didn't make it easier to get along either. Not even when they stood here like a family.

She laid the baby back in the cot, a faint smiling playing on her lips at the sleeping form.

"Are you happy?" he asked, and rued it, even before Diana turned to him, the softness gone from her face.

"That's a loaded question."

"I apologize." He knew, quickly as he said it, there had been an uncalled for mocking tone in his words. It was hopeless, they couldn't pretend to get along privately.

Yet Diana's focus was elsewhere, again on the child and far away. "She's the one good, beautiful, and pure thing in my life," she murmured. "I love her."

He swallowed. Maybe it was merely this special day, but sometimes, she did show the chinks in her armour. That didn't make her weaker, not really. And she wouldn't let the relationship to her own daughter deteriorate like the one to him.

He patted her shoulder once more. "Take care of yourself too. Don't forget to rest."

Of course she frowned again, but not without amusement. "And you might have a good drink with the Barrows and try to be a pleasant person for once?"

He snorted, as laughing was lost to him for long. "Is that an order, General?"

"Just an advice."

He shrugged. "Not a bad one, I admit. They certainly deserve a fine liquor to celebrate the new family member." He dared trying to smile and saw it mirrored on Diana’s face.

"Don't worry about me, I know how to ask people for help, or I wouldn't be a good officer," she declared.

"Then I wish you a nice evening as well."

When he was on the corridor outside of her room, he finally heard the baby crying. _She'll be as commanding as any of us_ , he thought. His wife, the first Clara Farley, had been as well.

 

 


	2. The Stargazers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _During KC. Marecal ~~smut~~ fluff and rare moments of the lost brotp of Farley and Cal._

**_A/N:_ ** _Warning of one horny boy._

**It had been** a long time since he’d felt burned. Actually, Cal couldn’t remember such an incident. The fire was a part of him, a friend and a weapon, its dangers under his control. Yet the burns on his skin had nothing to do with flames and were rather related to heated passion. Piedmont’s May wasn’t cold but the difference to daytime temperatures was still considerable and the reminders of passion were what warmed him now, on the inside, more than his ability. His lips were swollen, his neck bruised from Mare’s kisses. He grinned at the memory, certain he left similar marks on her. And he already missed her.

“We can’t go into my house,” she’d said. “Nor to my room,” he’d replied, and despite this disturbance, they searched for other lone places on the base to make out – and more. He still had difficulties to believe _it_ had really happened, and the thought made him blush as he sat on a bench outside his barracks, close to midnight. Sleeping with Mare, in the woods, during a storm, left him with wonder, even though it was hardly a miracle compared to her rescue, or a shock after the events of the last year since she’d stormed into his life. Yet the lines of her body, the sparks of her touch and his own desire occupied him more than battle plans and political agendas. All he craved was more of her.

Cal knew his father would’ve chided him for that. Cal hadn’t flirted much with court ladies from the start but his father had waved off any noble girl trying too hard to win the prince’s attention, as he’d reminded Cal to keep his distance, to maintain his chaste and regal image. King Tiberias VI didn’t want his son to get entangled in extramarital affairs and as Queenstrial was supposed to choose his future wife, Cal hadn’t been allowed to search on his own, period. Although he did see many flirts and unconventional relationships among the Silvers, he hadn’t missed his own lack of romance. Instead, he regarded his father’s insistence as its own kind of romantic, with his respect for marriage showing the love he still had for Coriane, Cal’s mother.

Only that Cal couldn’t have hoped for a similar match with Evangeline Samos chosen for him, like Elara had been chosen for his father. But he’d been aware of his duty.

All of that was before Mare though. He wanted her more than anything else in the world, and he wished to protect her and see her happy. She was all he had left. Now that he’d learned how it was to love, he was ruled by it instead of becoming a ruler himself. At least here on the Scarlet Guard base, where people didn’t treat him like a prince, king or whatever he was supposed to be. He tasted the air, full of night, forest and spring, and was free of being anything but Mare’s lover. The season itself manifested itself in this evening with a sky full of stars and only increased his longing – desire – and again, he rued that he and Mare didn’t share a room like at the notch.

A more reasonable but small part of him was embarrassed by these sensual, if not outright dirty thoughts.

“Are you on night watch there, Calore?”

He startled. It was what he deserved, found sunken in fantasies, and he could only hope to keep his demeanour straight, glad he didn’t show more proof of his dreamings when he turned to the speaker.

Farley came closer to him, which was necessary in the darkness outside the barracks. She held her baby against her chest. The little girl was wrapped in a blanket, barely visible.

“Good to see you again,” Cal said. “And no, I’m not on watch, just restless.”

She nodded. “I’d tell you to mind your schedule, but I’ve given myself some days off either.” She leaned against the wall, then changed her hold on the child who apparently protested. “Clara is restless too,” Farley said. “Well, so am I, thus I thought we could get some fresh air and a different sight than hospital walls.” She sighed. “And I don’t know whether she has it too cold or too hot now.” She pulled the blanket off Clara’s head. The baby was indeed awake although she seemed as sleepy as her mother who was obviously tired to the bones, with rings under her eyes and wearing the most comfortable clothing imaginable. Three days after giving birth, her belly was still rounded and somehow, her whole appearance was softer as well.

Cal cleared his throat. “Are you recovering well?”

She inclined her head, almost amused. “Well. To be honest, I’ve slept as much as Clara in the last three days. When she lets me, and currently she doesn’t.” That didn’t stop her from pulling Clara even closer, as if to kiss her.

“Everything’s new to you for once, General?” he asked.

She snorted. In agreement, he assumed, as she didn’t say more. Instead Clara gave a cry, urging her mother to calm her and him to get from his bench.

“Maybe she is cold,” he said

“Maybe you could change that,” Farley replied. Was that an invitation to caress Clara? He couldn’t believe it, expecting Farley to threaten him with “touch her and I’ll kill you.” She carried a gun on her too, in all likelihood. But her eyes continued to beckon him.

So his hand froze mid-air, a few inches form Clara. He pulled back and shrugged. “She looks so tiny,” he said with his most polite, court-trained smile.

One Farley didn’t reciprocate. “ _Tsk_. Didn’t feel that way when she was born,” she uttered. “Or the days before.”

His jaw dropped and his mind started to swim desperately in a sea of words he couldn’t grab and pictures he didn’t want to imagine.

“You know she’s a 4 kg-baby,” she added.

“I … guess …so,” he stuttered. “I meant, well, she’s pre – um, cute, General. A cute baby.” This time, he could’ve sworn the corners of her mouth twitched. By his colours, did she smile at his awkward gasping?

But then, he rather felt relief than embarrassment at seeing Diana Farley smile again.

It still left him unprepared for her next words. “You know, it took only one time.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Sleeping with Shade without protection.”

“What?” Again, he needed a few seconds to get her meaning, then he blushed so much he wanted to sink into the ground. “Oh, I see,” he muttered. “But I’m not sure if … ”

Farley raised her eyebrows. “Right, it might be different for Reds and Silvers, of course.” She shook her head. “Just talk with Mare about it, Calore. This is an order, because I can’t do everything for you.” She looked him dead in the eyes with her infamous glare. Then Clara yawned, which felt addictive to him and Farley both although she tried to hide it. “Good night,” she said and left him alone.

His former notions were gone by then. While the night was still magically beautiful, he thought less about chasing starlight with Mare and more about their future that might be written in the constellations.

 


	3. The Housewarming Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _During KC. Marecal fluff_

**Mare POV**

**I sigh as** I put down the last chest. Finally done. Farley had no qualms about letting us Barrows help her cleaning up the house she and Clara are moving in. While it is a small one, it was still filled with lots of stuff owned by the former Silver residents. I haven't paid much attention to the contents of the chests and boxes, glad for the physical exertion, but from the corners of my eyes, I see Gisa running over to Farley who's supervising our efforts. She nods as she examines whatever Gisa shows her.

"Now this is interesting," she exclaims, holding up the large and thin envelope.

"Mr. Jacos will know about it. He'll be delighted," Gisa remarks.

Farley frowns. "I don't need Julian Jacos to tell me what those artifacts are," she retorts and pats Gisa's shoulder. "Maybe you've never seen them, but these discs work together with that other gadget, and there's going to be fun." She smiles and strokes Clara's back who's sitting on her lap.

"But _what_ is it?" Gisa inquires.

By now they've noticed me watching their conversation. "Seems like Mare is curious about these, too," says Farley and points to me. "Well, Gisa has found a music-maker. And I'm inclined to try it out this evening."

It takes some time to make the music-maker work, but with some electricity from me and with Cameron's expertise with mechanics, we figure it out. I'm reminded of the speaker Cal has owned back in the Hall of the Sun, but this machine is much more vintage and has been repaired several times, as it seems. The music resonating from it is strange but enticing. It wakes an urge in me, buried deep in my bones and long forgotten. We've had some parties back in the stilts where we danced to very simple music from self-made instruments and I remember these moments now. We try out several of the discs Gisa has unearthed, with Farley rating them due to her liking until Clara starts crying.

Gisa giggles. "Seems like Clara is the one to truly make decisions here."

Farley _tsk_ s and shifts her hold on the baby. "She's just hungry. And she'll love this music tonight." She rises. "But you might finally get up and invite some people. And tell them to bring food." She moves off, then adds after a few seconds. Thank you very much for your help. The party starts at 1900."

* * *

**I look in** the mirror to check my appearance and for a short moment, it feels odd. I've been styled and dressed up so often during my imprisonment that it's difficult to imagine doing this for my own enjoyment. But I don't stop or turn away. Instead I smile at myself.

_Don't let Maven take anymore from you._

I flip the curly ends of my hair, glimpse at my earrings, and arrange my shirt and short pants. I'm Mare Barrow, and tonight, I'll have fun.

* * *

**The heat of** the Piedmontese summer lingers in the air, even at twilight. But it's a pleasant atmosphere, filled with the fragrances of pine woods and the wisterias growing on Farley's house, along with the smells of the food cooking on the grills. I smile at the other guests who have gathered already. Farley winks at me when she sees me but she's engaged in a conversation with some officers. I tag along, my hand tapping the beat of the music on my thigh. Unsure of what to do, I grab a drink and take some sips, watching the people around me out of habit. Yet I flinch when I feel a hand on my shoulder and my elbow connects with the person standing behind me. I spin to see Cal and I'm glad I can stop myself from throwing my drink in his face out of reflex.

"Ow – oh, Mare, I'm sorry!"

I snort and shake my head. "Hi, Cal." I look up to him and see surprise flashing on his face. He's obviously astounded to see me like this and he flushes silver when I noticed my gaze. I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning. He looks handsome as well, clean-shaven and his hair styled in some wild but deliberate way.

With his hand in his pockets, he says, "you're as radiant as a summer's eve tonight, Mare."

I reply with an amused snort. "Thank you. You look nice as well." I take a step closer to him, set my glass on a table, and touch his hips. "And? Are you excited?"

There must have been more alcohol in my drink than I thought. My hips start to sway to the music and my palms travel up to Cal's waist.

"Do you want to dance, Mare?" he asks. I love it when he says my name. He places one hand on my back while the other one carefully takes my hand.

I nod to him. "Okay." And Cal starts to dance with me as we did so long ago, when he taught me the dances of the Silver court. I shake my hair as we spin and I feel myself smiling.

_This is it._

Yet after several twists, I pull away from him. A question blooms on his face before I bounce against him again.

"Are those the only dances you know?" I utter. I kiss his cheek and start a dance on my own. "We have some other variations in the stilts" And I let body be ruled by the music, moving in whatever way it takes me. It has been a long time since I did this for the last time, almost like in another life, but it is exactly what I want right now. I beam at Cal, who still stands a little stiff, until he begins to imitate me, more or less. He sways in his own freestyle way, both our bodies constantly shifting between touching and tearing apart. There is nothing in the world but him, me and the music. I laugh against this neck and can't stop as we crash into each other once more. This time, I stay there and hug him tightly.

"There's something I wanted to tell you for some time, Mare," Cal whispers raggedly and cups my head in his warm hands. They're hotter than any weather could be. I look up into his burning bronze eyes which are full of rejoice. He takes another breath before he goes on.

"A happy 18th birthday, Mare. You make an amazing adult."

I bat his chest in surprise, fighting away the memories of how I really spent the day of my last birthday. I force a smile that quickly becomes real.

"Okay, let's pretend," I say and I kiss him passionately, leaning up on my toes. An enjoyable shiver runs over my skin as Cal strokes my lower back and behind.

"Thanks," I whisper between kisses, then I continue to chew on his lips.

A sudden thunder in the sky makes us break apart and we start laughing in a frenzy.

Cal grins at me, then leans down. "Want to go in the mud again?"

As enticing as the thought is, I shake my head. "I find I quite enjoy this party after all."

 


	4. Light in your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post KC, Farley x Ada_

_**A/N:** Warning: This is my crackship Farley x Ada aka _ Fada _, but it’s not a big thing between them yet. I think it’s worth to read ~~for the angst~~ even without agreeing on the ship, but that’s just me … ;-)_

 _As this is a w/w ship, there will be a lot of she/her pronouns. I hope I made everything clear, but if it’s not, just ask._

* * *

**_I_ ** **_’d die for_ ** _you._

It was an obvious thing to say. Diana Farley would do everything for her daughter so she might grow up in a better world than her parents did. Thus Farley continued to kill and risk her own life for the victory of the Scarlet Guard.

It was also a wrong thing.

Ruth Barrow reminded her every time she left Clara in the care of her grandmother, as if she didn’t know herself. She did know, while not minding Ruth’s constant insisting either.

“Don’t you dare let my grandchild grow up as an orphan, Diana Farley,” Ruth would chide her when she took Clara into her arms and Farley would nod.

“I promise that I’ll come back,” she pledged. “I’ll see you soon, dove,” she then whispered to Clara, and turned around to take part in another confrontation with Silver warlords.

* * *

 **Farley didn’t dare** to tell Ruth about the letters she wrote for Clara in case she would not return, despite her promises. You could never know, not after what had happened to Shade. Not after what had almost happened to Mare. But she swore to herself she would read those letters to Clara herself one day, to show her how much she loved her - and to tell her about her father.

She wasn’t going to let anyone forget who Shade Barrow had been, least of all their daughter or herself. But it was a strain, a sting in her heart, to be beholden to a dead man while desperately trying to live.

* * *

 **The colonel’s** **questioning** gaze was aimed at Farley for most of the meeting. She understood him, really, because the Guard’s current strategy, her strategy, seemed strange enough for those that weren’t told about it.

Her father kept insisting on involving the rebels in the battles – to not call them outright civil war – between the Lerolan-governed Delphie region and Maven in Archeon.

“It’s the perfect chance to evacuate the techies in Gray Town,” the colonel proposed. “With the industry in the Rift withholding resources, Maven Calore cannot maintain the capitol. General,” he addressed Farley and she still felt the amazement of hearing the colonel pleading to her.

But she merely cleared her throat. It wouldn’t stop him for long, so she added, “we support the techie Reds with supplies. That must be enough, as we’ll need the factories for our own plans. Just as the Lerolan Silvers can deal by themselves.”

The colonel frowned, but he realized when he had to withdraw until later. Yet his stare lingered, he would not give up. Farley glared back for a moment before changing the topic. Next to her, Ada Wallace illustrated Farley’s statements without a prompt. Ada’s thinking was quick in more than one regard and Farley patted the other woman’s thigh in thanks. Ada turned slightly to wink at her.

But inwardly, she sighed. All of this only because she had no clearance to tell the colonel about Davidson’s plot to turn the Silvers against each other. It was well within Scarlet Guard practice to keep operations classified, but this still seemed stupid.

When  _she_  had to tell the colonel about Cal’s acceptance to reclaim the throne of Norta, he looked like he was going to explode until he started to shout in frustration instead. Fortunately, he stopped after a few seconds, or Farley would’ve seriously considered shoving Clara into his arms, if only to see what would happen. He was very reluctant to touch his granddaughter, and a part of Farley was angry about that. He was one of the reasons why she brought the child to her meetings.

Otherwise, the colonel’s disagreement was reasonable. Why should the Scarlet Guard support another Silver king, even less so when his ascension led to the visible break between him and Mare Barrow, both of them faces of the rebellion?

Thus Farley cursed Davidson for issuing a gag order on her. But that didn’t mean she was unable to deal with the situation. Diana Farley hadn’t risen to a general’s rank for nothing. She’d only prefer to make decisions by herself instead of listening to the Monfort Newbloods.

If Mare felt the same, she didn’t let it show. The girl had become more and more of a mistress in masking her thoughts, in public at least. Farley took care to pay attention to Mare’s mental well-being, something she, Shade and Cal had missed to do before Mare’s imprisonment. Nevertheless, Mare had a mind for politics and consequently, she and Farley as two of the few people aware of the scheme, were the ones to make decisions for the soldiers stationed at the Piedmont base.

It was a burden Farley would like to share, most of all with Ada. Farley doubted the Newblood hadn’t already figured Davidson out, and if not, it could not take much longer. Farley felt as much when she met Ada’s kind but shrewd golden eyes settling on her. They weren’t accusing but offering help and she was tempted. She didn’t get into this position because she was good at following orders after all. It was a decision she could make by herself, and she was ready to trust Ada with her life. 

* * *

 **Yet when there**  were only her and Ada left in her office, she circled around the truth, letting Ada prattle about everything else as well as letting her take care of Clara when she cried because of her growing teeth. Farley smiled at the sight as they stood in front of her, Ada’s ochre skin illuminated by the reddish-golden light of the sunset.

“What will you do when she’s older, General? Like three?” Ada asked out of a sudden.

Farley blinked and turned back to her papers. “What?”

“I mean when Clara’s old enough to understand what we’re talking about in the meetings. Would you still want her to be there?” Ada explained.

“That is … ”

“And what about your weapons lying around? Clara might just … ” Ada shrugged.

Farley knew that she was blushing. “You’re right, Lieutenant Wallace, I’m aware – “

“It’s Ada, we’re not in a meeting.”

Farley laughed drily. “Right, Ada. I wonder myself.”

Ada moved into the seat in front of her desk. “Why is it so important to you to bring her along?” she asked eventually. It could’ve sounded too inquiring, too nosy, but she seemed merely curious – and compassionate.

Farley hesitated to answer, although she knew very well why. She continued to look at the maps on her desk. “It’s just ... I want to,” she confessed after a while. “Have her with me whenever I can. I … need to, as a reminder.” She shrugged.

Finally, she raised her head, just in time to see an emotion flicker over Ada’s face. It almost looked like regret.

* * *

 **She woke with**  a jolt.  _Oh_ , she thought,  _oh. Why did it have to end?_

Well, the reason was obvious, Clara had cried out, having woken up herself. The child was calming quickly, but Farley picked her up nonetheless.

“What is it, dove? Not hungry or dirty? The teeth again?” Clara only grabbed her mother’s shirt and fell asleep again.

Farley sighed. “You didn’t need a reason, do you?” She didn’t put Clara back into the cot, not yet. She needed to hold her for a moment while the memory of a passionate dream lingered in her mind. And her body.

The truth was, she had already forgotten what had happened in the dream, or with whom. What remained was the want, the desire that hadn’t showed itself for the first time in the last year. Farley couldn’t deny that she yearned for more than discussing, scheming and fighting, for even more than seeing Clara grow up.

The solution was simple. She wanted Shade. But he wasn’t coming back. Never, neither for their daughter nor for her.

She laid Clara back into her own bed and stayed standing next to it.

It wasn’t a new thought, but a fact that had slammed into her mind a for a long time now. Just when Clara was born, Shade had been dead for already half a year. And half a year was the whole amount of time Farley had known him. It was such a short period, all in all, yet it was nothing she could – or want to – ever forget. She remembered every second of it, even before their relationship became physical, like every time they eyes had met, when his hands had touched her or when he had said her name with such intensity.

It had hurt to remember for a long time. But the pain had started to lessen as well when acceptance began to set in. At times, she would go back to mourn Shade and what could’ve been, but those thoughts no longer overwhelmed her; she could think about him more with fondness than with grief.

Yet as she did, going thoroughly over those moments, she realized some of them were repeating themselves when she was with Ada: The glances, the smiles, her constant presence at Farley’s side.

She wasn’t certain how often she had already touched Ada for support, not knowing why she did it. She blushed, realizing how selfishly she’d grasped that support at times. Did she truly long for that, did she even have the time? Ada was there for her and she enjoyed to be with her. Yet Farley was unsure if she wasn’t making everything up. Why should Ada have in interest in her apart from their friendship and mutual cause? On the other hand, she had thought the same thing about Shade back then.

It didn’t help that Ada had golden eyes, just like him.

She glanced at Clara, watching her breath regularly. Yet another golden-person close to her. Gently, she felt for the child’s heartbeat.

“I love you more than anything else in the world,” she whispered. “But,” she sighed, “but. We aren’t alone in it, are we?”

Farley fought for a better world, yet there already was so much more than pain, sorrow and grief in it. She could not mourn and long for Shade for the rest of her life. It would take too much from her, even if that life only lasted for another week.

She went back to bed and tried to sleep while pondering about golden eyes piercing her heart. Of course, she didn’t fall asleep again for what felt like hours, not before she started to touch herself.

 _I could talk to Ada_ , she thought. And for a moment, that included,  _I could go to her right now._  Then Farley was embarrassed about her excitement.

_Don’t be rash, General. You know better now, and you’re beyond rashness._

_I ’ll wait for a day._

* * *

**Diana Farley was**  quite a coward when it came to confessing. Her determination waxed and waned from minute to minute and that didn’t even take into account her lack of words. It was night again, and one and a half days away from another relocation. It was the right thing to settle – this, before it would be buried under new duties. Ada lodged just on the other side of the corridor. Yet Farley didn’t move and continued to stare at Clara, first for five, then for ten minutes.

"What if Ada feels uncomfortable to be intimate with her superior?” she asked aloud. Of course, Clara didn’t answer, so she did it herself. “No, that’s a lame excuse.” Ada was the most rational person in the world, she had to be able to deal with Farley’s feelings, even if she didn’t reciprocate them.

Farley had stood up before she stopped herself as she realized what bullshit that thought was.  _Just because Ada is so very intelligent doesn’t mean that she can’t feel overburdened, you idiot._

But still, even if she was wrong about Ada, there was no danger in asking, was there? She just had to be careful with her words, casually inquiring if Ada had any romantic interests at all.

So she stood at the door and hesitated. Parental worry took control of her for a moment. How could she leave her little girl alone to go flirting? She shook her head and convinced herself that Clara wasn’t going to die in the next five minutes.

Ada invited Farley into the room after two long seconds since she knocked. The Newblood seemed content and relaxed with a book in her hand and even more piled on her desk.

“It’s not that tidy in here, General,” Ada said with a self-deprecating smirk. Of course it  _was_  tidy by anyone else’s standards but the former housemaid’s. “Alas, what do you want?”

There. As Ada looked at Farley, all her carefully prepared words escaped from her mind. She returned the gaze until Ada eased herself and leaned against the desk with the corners of her mouth twitching.

It was time. “Well. We’ve fought together for so long now, Ada, and I think we should finally get to know each other better,” Farley wrung out the phrases and cursed herself for her bluntness.

“I see,” Ada replied and drank from a mug. “What do you want to know? Or would you like to talk about yourself first?”

That settled it.

“I’d like to know if you like me too, Ada,” she said without thinking any further and she was glad to be out with it.

Because Ada started to laugh as happy and freely as Farley had never heard her laugh before. She felt the same sound rising from her stomach before she joined in.

That was when Ada touched her shoulder and pulled her closer which sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. She placed her hands in Ada’s sides to turn it into a real embrace.

“I couldn’t exactly go and ask you myself,” Ada whispered against her neck. “I had to wait for your choice.” She paused. “Didn’t I?”

Farley hadn’t thought about it like that. But Ada had been right about that and her consideration for Farley’s grief created a lump in her throat. She leaned her head against Ada’s.

“Yes,” she whispered. “You were right. Thank you.”

For the moment, it was enough to stand there in each other’s arms. This was merely a beginning, still small and budding. So, after some time and more whispered words, Farley carefully pulled away. Her fingertips brushed Ada’s cheek.

“I left Clara alone,” she explained. “I need to go back.”

Ada nodded and took her other hand. “Until next time, Diana Farley.”

Her golden eyes didn’t leave Farley out of sight until she was on the corridor. Just like Farley’s lingered on her.

* * *

**_A/N 2:_ ** _I still hope no one wants to kill me._

_I probably overused the eye fucking, didn’t? I tried to tone it done a little, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

_I definitely overused but and yet._

_Ada really has golden eyes, I’ve looked that up. Too good not to mention._

_I kept the time frame ambiguous on purpose. I don’t want to set up an amount of time which I deem as an appropriate mourning period. That is individual and not for me or anyone else to judge._

_As I’ve said before, I think it is a bad trope to treat a (kind of) widowed single mother as unshippable. It’s certainly not the same with male characters and so I’m making a point with Farley. That doesn’t mean I need every character in a relationship in the end._

_Titled after a song by Flyleaf._

 


	5. The Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post-KC, Fade Angst_

**_A/N:_ ** _Sorry for the following emotional manipulation._

**Farley POV**

**Flying makes Clara**  sick, and after she vomited, she crawled into my arms and has stayed here for an hour by now.

She’s flown before when she was a few months old, and it wasn’t better; she cried the whole flight. Her dislike hasn’t improved and I remember how I’d grinned at Shade getting sick on the Blackrun years ago. Strange to see she has inherited  _that_ from him. “Dove’s” become an unfitting nickname.

“We’re almost there,” I say, noticing the island in the distance as I look from the window. Finally, the clouds are gone and the morning sun’s light is reflected by the water. I rub Clara’s back and she stirs. After a few seconds, she pulls away from my chest and risks a glance, to my relief. I need to get her belted in her own seat for the landing. I lift her from my lap and suddenly, excitement overcomes her. She sits up in her seat to face the window with both hands pressed to the wall. “Mama, what is it?”

I bend towards her. “It’s the sea, Clara. And over there is Tuck, the island we’re flying to.”

She swallows. Damn, the view from up here must be making her nauseous again. I caress her arm to soothe her, talk to distract her. “You’ve been here before, you know? When you were still in my belly.”  _Like when Daddy was still with us_ , I almost say, as if I won’t have to face the memories soon enough. “You’ve been to a lot of places, actually,” I add instead.

That doesn’t make  _me_  feel better but at least Clara seems to be okay. It’s a nice thing to tell her about the adventures in the early weeks of my pregnancy with her, but only in the censored version. If I think about that time by myself, I consider how lucky I’ve been that I haven’t lost her during one of our dangerous and reckless actions. I don’t want to imagine my life without her.

* * *

**I carry Clara**  out of the plane and once ground is under her feet, she wants to walk by herself. She’s still wobbly and clings to my leg. Yet her relief is obvious. She takes a few deep breaths of the cold and salty air, then fumbles with her ears.

“I know, Clara,” I reassure her. “It’s annoying but the swoosh takes a while to go away.”

It takes the usual amount of time to transport our little baggage and to settle in the dwell provided for us. It’s hardly ever more than comfortable but still better than most rooms. Command privileges. I reap them for Clara and let myself enjoy them, too.

I tend to her as long as necessary. She isn’t that small anymore but the flight drags on her. I enjoy that as well, to bring her to bed and chat with her as she becomes more talkative.

“I’m happy you brought me along,” Clara says and I pat her cheek.

“That’s nice,” I reply smiling but with a lump in my throat. I brought her along for a reason, not just to avoid the separation. Although I have to know by now she doesn’t like to see me gone for weeks and more either.

“Are you a little better?” I ask and she nods. “You should rest after the awful flight, though,” I add. She nods again but holds on to my hand until she falls asleep.

I extricate myself carefully, open and close the door quietly. I lean against it. I can’t get the purpose of this journey out of my head, and that I still have to tell her about it. She can’t remember how it was last year, nor could we come here with the civil wars on another surge. Some kind of peace has arrived by now, and the Barrows were the ones to ask for this, most of all Daniel –

“Ma’am?”

I startle. “Oh, excuse me,” the boy in the corridor says and steps back. Great, now I’ve scared him with my authority.

“There’s no problem, Os – “, I remember his last name – “Operative Lazarev. What do you want?”

He’s still nervous. Oskar Lazarev’s grown since we met in Piedmont for the first time. He was a Newblood too young to take part in the fights, yet with a talent like a raw gemstone. That changed however, so he stands before me as a messenger.

“Will you come to the meeting at 1000, Ma’am?”

“Certainly, I just got ready.” I clear my throat and start moving, remembering the meeting room on this base. I expect Lazarev to follow but he remains standing in place. I’m a few paces behind him when he speaks again.

“Ma’am.” I look over my shoulder. “I …” he hesitates again. “Well, I finished the tombstone, Ma’am. Actually all tombstones. I conferred with the Barrows, of course, but if you wish to have  _his_  adjusted, I could arrange that.” He blushes, embarrassed but glad to have said it. I stare at him, maybe too hard.

Oskar Lazarev, age 17, can reshape stone and concrete and he chooses to be a  stonemason for the graves and epitaphs of our fallen.

I tilt my head. “Perhaps in a few years, when I’m dead and you can add my name to his?”

He stares at me in shock and I storm off to the meeting. That was cruel. But I’m a coward who still can’t talk about Shade Barrow without preparation.

* * *

**Tuck makes for**  a magnificent base after all. Especially in peacetimes when it can be overlooked that the place isn’t secret anymore. The officers and advisors here talk to me like they have the most important matters to settle with me, both honoured by the presence of a Command member and humbled like they’re afraid to waste my time. We dance around the fact that I’m here for family reasons. I almost expect one of them to voice the fear a prominent Silver will ask for the mortal remains of Elara Merandus.

Once the thought is there, I wonder where she’s buried. Immediately after her death, I had other things to worry about.

* * *

**Clara’s awake for**  lunch with the Barrows. We hug, talk and eat, all to distract ourselves form the fact that no one likes this place. But we have each other, a light in the somber mood. I catch a few glances caused by Clara’s obvious ignorance about the date. “We’ll talk later,” I say to Mare when she tries to hold me back after lunch. Her eyes are adamant.

“The service is at three o’clock,” she says.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Clara looks up to me curiously. I take her hand and walk her back to our room, searching mentally for some papers I can work on before the service. I know it’s an excuse. I know I have to tell her. Being on Tuck has put a weight on me that smothers the resolve I believed to have. I talked with Clara about her father before, I shared his few photos with her. Her grandparents have done similarly, and yet –

“Mama?”

I stop when she speaks but she stumbles as she didn’t mean me to.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dove,” I say and kneel. “What do you want?”

She pouts, her fingers play on my arm. “A dove is a bird, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m not a bird.”

I laugh, prompting Clara to go on pouting. “Okay, sorry. Should I stop calling you ‘dove’?”

“…… No.”

I stroke her head. “Okay.” And I realize she made me laugh despite my dark mood, with few and minimal strikes, and has done so her whole short life. She deserves better. Better that being kept oblivious.

“Clara, do you ned another nap?”

She ponders for a moment. “No?”

“I have to show you something.”

* * *

**As Lazarev said** , Tuck’s green has become a graveyard filled with tombstones. They vary in shape and every engraving is individualized by more than the name and dates. The font, motifs, words, all differ, sometimes even including reliefs or small sculptures. Lazarev has truly an artist’s mind and skill and yet he chooses to do this instead of creating other kinds of art. I’m grateful for his craft.

It’s a distraction, too. I look at the stones’ epitaphs but I already know where Shade lies. I could walk there in the dark, the way and the view from there are engraved in my mind.

“You dad’s over there,” I tell Clara, certain I’m right but reluctant to glance at the stone itself. All I can see are the flowers laid before it. Three years, and the wound can still bleed. This cursed island. Clara tugs on my hand, about to speak. I’m letting her down again.

“I’ll read,” I say to make myself. I feel detached. “’Shade Barrow’”, I start. His name is carved under the sign of the Scarlet Guard. “’Born February 2nd 301. Died November 7th 320.’” I squeeze Clara’s hand and feel like drowning. “’A Hero and One of Us. Loved and Unforgotten.’”

Clara becomes my life buoy. I sink to the ground, sitting down on the grave without a shred of deference. Tears obscure my sight.

“Mama? Mama!” Clara tugs on my coat, my arm. I pull her onto my lap as I sob, then swipe my face. Did I make her cry too? But she merely looks up to me, confused, startled. Worried. I must be an unfamiliar sight to her in this moment.

“Mama, don’t cry,” she says like I’ve said to her a hundred times and I feel awful for it. My daughter shouldn’t have to worry about me.

But don’t I make her worry often enough? I hug her closer, slowly calming while my tears stay running.

“Do you miss Daddy?” she asks eventually.

The way I feel today should make it clear. Yet I’ve chided myself to pretend I didn’t. How can I miss Shade that hard when my life has moved on in so many ways?

But I miss Shade’s smile. I miss his intellect. I miss the way he supported me in my work. I miss how he protected all of the team. I miss what he could’ve been for Clara, and mourn along with his family. I miss the moments when I shared my heart and my body with him and gave him my trust and self-doubts like no one before.

I wipe my face and blink away the tears. “Yes, Clara, I do.” I cup her face in my hands. “I’m sorry you don’t know him.”

“But I miss him too,” she says. “You and Grandma and Mare told me so much.” She pauses.

“Yes.” I nod. “He’d love you.”

“But I have you,” she says and cuddles against me.

“Yes,” I repeat. And before I can think to remember my vow not to make empty promises or to give assurances I can’t fulfil in this world, I find myself saying, “and I’ll always be with you.” 

 


	6. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post-KC, fluff_

**_A/N:_ ** _This is some old request._ _I HC this only works in-universe; if this was in a modern AU, Farley would ~~let Shade do this~~  buy one of these books written exactly for the purpose of telling Clara._

**Mare POV**

I follow Clara in her determined gait, trying to keep myself from grinning. When she started to ask her awkward questions, laughing and an abominable lightning reference were my only answers, reasonably leading to her frustration. I recommend to query her mother instead, thus we find Farley, with Ada beside her, in her office which is full of papers and folders spread everywhere.

When they look up from their work, Clara’s resolve falters, as if she realizes the touchy subject of her curiosity.

“Mama?” she asks.

“Yes,” Farley answers, still having an eye on a paper.

“Mama!” Clara’s insistence surprises them but demands their attention. I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed, undecided between wanting to vanish and to hear the fun waiting in this situation.

Clara hesitates no longer. “Mama, where do babies come from? Where do I come from? Mare only told me nonsense!” She might’ve said more, but the shifting emotions on Farley’s face are entertainment enough. It’s the acknowledgement that the day she knew would come has arrived and now she’s at loss for words, despite all preparation – if she prepared. Yet Farley’s helplessness rather spurs Clara.

“Please, I don’t understand. Mare said that Daddy – ”

“What did she say?” Farley retorts, slightly panicked. “Oh, never mind. Come here.” She lifts Clara onto her lap.

“Umm, well …” Farley gives me a glare and when I evade it, I see Ada snickering to herself.

She _probably knows exactly how to explain,_  I think. But Ada merely smiles back at me like a partner in crime.

“Okay,” Farley continues, “You might’ve seen that. Babies grow in their mothers’ bellies for about nine months, as you did in mine, until you were around this large.” She gestures. “Though I’ve learned you were a rather big baby,” she jests and her smile contains the hope Clara will be satisfied with that.

“You came to a number of places with me back then. Time to tell you about those,” she adds, clearly trying to dissemble. But no such luck, and all of us know it. Clara frowns, curiosity still written on her face.

“And what did Daddy have to do with this?”

Farley swallows. “Yes, Daddy was with us. So were Mare and Cal, Ada and Kilorn. That was at the notch, in the north of Norta. It was cold there, not like here. But we might go there again too, how about that, Clara?”

I have to flinch when I think of the notch. Our stay was an autumn of fear, hiding, and loneliness. But Farley smiles as she narrates, and not only to placate Clara. Because unlike me, I realize, she has fond memories of the place. She was happy there despite the dangers, as she and Shade were together and in love. A shiver goes down my back. I banish these thoughts, it’s not what this is about. I glance at Ada again and her expression changes from neutral to encouraging when she catches me.  _As if she’s always aware of our needs._

In the end, Clara isn’t lured by Farley’s blatant dodge. “Mama,” she insists, “I wasn’t asking about that. Where do – ”

“Right, okay, okay,” Farley stops her. “Yeah. So, Daddy and I made you – ”

“Made?” Now Clara’s intense frown stops her mother.

“Ah, that’s a bad expression, I’m sorry,” Farley corrects herself. “No, well. We made love; that is, we had sex.” She pauses, now definitely entering the embarrassing zone and blushing more than usual whereas Clara remains adamant about getting her answers.

“There’re many words for it. Sex is what couples do. Adult couples. It’s fun, and sometimes, babies come from it.” Despite Clara’s doubtful expression, Farley just goes on, perhaps hoping to be done with it sooner if she keeps the stream of words flowing.

“But sex means commitment and trust. You and your partner give and get something in return and for a moment, you become … one. That’s it, basically. It’s similar about children.” Farley pats one of Clara’s shoulders. “You’ve got one half of you from Daddy,” she says, then pats the other one, “and one half from me. Though it’s not as simple as that, as you’re entirely your own, new person …” she loses her thread but I think it’s the most poetic thing I’ve ever heard her say. Although she’s clearly improvised and it was a little silly and convoluted.

“That was well-put, Diana,” Ada comments. Indeed, Clara appears convinced, finally.

“Umm,” she mumbles, with an adorable pout.

“Any more questions, dove?” Beneath her smile, Farley seems relieved.

“No … maybe later. But … Mama …” Clara can’t continue. Instead she’s looks like she’s about to cry. “I wanna see Daddy,” she sniffs, urging Farley to pull her close.

“I know, dove,” she replies, and stands up with the girl in her arms to leave the room, but not before giving Ada an apologizing glance. “Who doesn’t?” she adds quietly.

I couldn’t agree more.

Ada sighs, her amusement slightly deceased. “May we look at your power plant’s data now, Mare?” she proposes, remembering the reason I came here to begin with. Yet I doubt she has only work on her mind.

“Is it always like this?” I wonder.

She shrugs. “It’s worth it, for me, for us. Like even painful memories can be beautiful.”

 


	7. Dream and Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post-KC. FLuff and angst with Clara and Farley_

_**A/N:** Warning - Prepare for the feels ~_

**The voice was**  mumbling but insisting. She didn’t know where to place it at first, her mind and the voice still enwrapped in a vivid dream. Farley needed a tug on her arm and a louder call to pull herself out of sleep.

“Mama!”

The alarm in her daughter’s cry finally jerked her awake. 

Her eyes opened, taking in the girl’s teary eyes and shivering chin in an instant. Farley half-rose, turned to Clara and pulled her into an embrace. It was all Clara had waited for. It was like she couldn’t get close enough to her mother, her legs clasping Farley, face buried in her neck, as she continued to cry, murmuring for her mommy.

Farley stroked the child’s head and back, whispering calming words in return.

“It’s okay, dove, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Clara’s sobs made her heart clench, a feeling she never expected to have before Clara existed.

Farley spoke again, louder this time. She had to comfort Clara somehow. “Clara, my dove,” she said, cupping the girl’s face with her hands. “What is it?”

Clara didn’t answer and sniffed instead.

“Hmm?” Farley prompted. “You can tell me.”

“…Bad dream …” It was an effort for her to speak again, her throat strained from crying. Farley intensified her caresses.

“I’m sorry, dove. But it’s over now, and I’m here, and you’re with me and nothing bad will happen.” She could put all her love into the words and the strokes, but there was always a kind of helplessness remaining. She couldn’t protect Clara from her own mind, and there was so much Farley had no control over. That was one reason why she had decided long ago to banish her fears of not being a good mother by always trying her best.

Clara leaned against her chest again, still sobbing occasionally, but slowly calming down. So they sat embraced on the bed, until Clara said eventually, “can you tell me about Daddy?”

Farley held her breath. Shade wasn’t a secret between them, but a beloved person alluded to every now and then, a memory framed in two treasured photos in the kitchen. It had stopped to hurt to look or smile at them, at the grinning young man, but the deeper Farley delved into her memories, the more it stung. She couldn’t just spill out stories about him, not unless she felt ready and prepared as the grief always resurfaced. At times, it seemed like he had truly become a ghost between them, a shade haunting them. But, of course she would do it for their daughter.

She hugged Clara closer and whispered, “what do you know about him, Clara?”

Clara sniffed one more time and strung words together. “His name was Shade, and he was very brave. A hero of the Guard and a Newblood, like Mare, Ada, and Cameron. I look a lot like him. And …” she paused, but not to sob again. Carefully, she added, “He loved you, and you loved him, you miss him terribly and so do I …” This time, Clara stopped for good.

Farley gulped. “He was a teleporter, dove, and I hated it every time he used his talent on me,” she confessed.

Clara blinked astounded. “Really?”

Farley smiled for her sake. “Absolutely. I always hope to avoid teleporting, but a general has to – “  She interrupted herself as she saw Clara’s face darkening again.  _Oh no._

That was the wrong thing to say, possibly what Clara had had a nightmare about, likely about the war Farley was committed to and which had already taken Shade’s life. “Don’t – “ she began, but then chose a different approach. “Clara, look. We’re Farleys and we don’t give up. We hope and fight.” Clara’s eyes widened. “And you’re a Barrow as well, so you are, let’s see, a hurricane of stubbornness and sassiness.” Clara giggled and relief flooded through Farley. She smiled back, her fingers brushing through Clara’s brown curls. “Remember you were born during a literal storm. That’s a sign, Clara Farley. You don’t have to fear anything, but if you do, I’ll be there for you.”

For all their honesty, those words were cheeky enough to wrench more tears from Clara. But they were happy ones, drying before they asleep, laying down arm in arm.

* * *

**An idea had**  resurfaced last night, about Clara and Shade.

_Is she like him? And if she was, in what way?_

The thought distracted Farley during breakfast as she made assumptions about ways to find out. They could simply wait for things to happen but they didn’t have to be passive. Yet, who was to decide about that?

Eventually Farley cleared her throat. “Clara, what I said about dad last – “

“Yes?”

Clara’s excitement unsettled her a little. The child was the one who lost the most of Shade. But Farley kept the sad thought at bay and went on. “Well, possibly, you are a Newblood like him. Or Mare.”

“Really?”

Farley shrugged. “I don’t know, yet. Would you like to find out? There is some kind of test.”

“Yes!”

She smiled. She was unsure who was actually deciding here, but she had had to ask Clara herself about it. “But don’t be disappointed if you are just a common and ordinary Red like me.”

“But Mama, you aren’t common at all!”

Farley laughed at this. “You’re flattering me.” She shook her head. “But seriously, dove, if you are a Newblood, and you believe you know what your talent is, please come to me, or Mare. Or rather Ada. You won’t have to deal with that by yourself.” She hoped to give Clara a grave but encouraging glance.

Clara grinned anyways. “You wouldn’t be afraid either, Mama. I’ll remember that.” 

* * *

_**A/N 2:** I might have written the #Death by Cuteness overkill here >.< I hope you like it anyways. _

_So I have hinted at Clara fearing about her mother dying in battle. Please note that I’m not saying that Farley has to refrain from participating in the war. But the danger coming with it is a factor of their lives about which both of them think and act on. There has to be some kind of responsible balance, IMO._


	8. Babysitting part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post-KC. Fluff with Clara, Mare and Cal. A trilogy_

**Mare POV**

**This goodbye has** been lasting for five minutes already. I stand 3 m away from where Farley crouches in front of Clara, and I wait, patiently, for them to finish so I can take Clara into my care. I order myself not to frown, laugh, or cross my arms. I try to appear neutral as Farley tucks Clara’s hair behind her ears for the second time in three minutes.

“You’re a big girl, so don’t be silly with Mare,” Farley says.

“Of course not,” Clara agrees. I think she rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious, she’s trying very hard.” Farley glances at me for a moment and I straighten. I’m reminded of the wary look she gave me when she realized that I, having some days off, was the only person available to baby-sit Clara while she has to check on some new recruits.

“And one of you has to be reasonable,” she adds and it’s my time to roll my eyes. Clara giggles and Farley cups her cheeks. “Take care, dove. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

Smiling, I approach them, thinking this must be it. Until Farley brushes the girl’s hair for a third time and they hug one another. I freeze again.

Finally, Farley gets up, Clara still in her arms. Her eyes almost pierce me but I don’t falter.

_I can do this, you’ll see._

“Isn’t she getting a little too old to be carried around?” The sentence is out despite my better knowledge. I guess a part of me thought this was a way to lighten the mood, but instead I get Farley’s full glare and Clara starts to side-eye me too.

“If that is too hard on you, Mare,” Farley scoffs, “maybe I should search for someone else after all.”

I smile at her taunt. “Not at all, just wondering.” After a second, I add, “you can give her to me right now. if you like.”

“Fine.” She kisses her daughter’s brow before she hands her over – which isn’t an easy feat for several reasons. I do my best not to wince at Clara’s weight on me. She’s a big girl for her four years. I’d prefer to set her down again, but Farley already lists the things I’ll have to pay attention to, like food, clothing, books and general warnings to  _keep her safe_. I nod them off, thinking Farley is way too thorough. She’ll only be gone for 24 hours.

“So you have everything?” Farley asks softly one more time and caresses Clara’s head for a last time.

“Yes, Mama. I’ll keep Mare in line,” Clara answers in my stead before her mother, after another whisper, finally picks up her bag and leaves.

“You can let me down now,” Clara mentions, “I can walk by myself.”

“You certainly can,” I murmur as I obey and Clara walks off right away.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

She breaks her stride and turns to frown at me. She might have gotten a lot of her looks from my brother, but this expression is entirely Farley.

Only there is something undeniably cute about a little girl glaring at you.

“Home, of course, A driver’s waiting.”

“But I thought …”

“Mama doesn’t want me to go to your cramped and untidy flat.”

I sigh. “Sure.” I hope Cal will finish work at the power plant early today so he might assist me, even if he expects me at home.

* * *

**“What do you** want to do?” I ask when we settle down in Clara’s room. It is, indeed, tidier than my flat. The toys are all in a box, the bed is made and there is even a small desk.

Clara shrugs. “Games?” The tidiness ends as she throws the pillows from her bed onto the floor, takes a seat among them and gestures for me to do the same. Surprised, I choose a place.

“Does Farley sit on the floor with you too?”

Her amber eyes gleam again with the mix of glare and cuteness. “That’s ‘General Farley’ for you!” she claims and gets up. I giggle until Clara tosses a deck of playing cards at me.

“Hey!”

She hefts her arms on her hips and the likeness to her mother becomes even more striking. I continue to chuckle. “Oh Clara, you are so cute!” I say when I find my breath.

_“I am not cute!_ ” she claims. Which is totally cute. Yet eventually, she sits down with a heavy sigh, despite my amusement.

Our card matches don’t have much better outcomes. Each time we agree on a game, we start to argue over the rules from the first card dealt to the last one set.

“Confess it,” I say, “you and your mom made up these ridiculous rules.”

“These are the right, true rules, Mare!” she insists. “And I’ve told you, it’s ‘General’ for you, not ‘mom.’” She crosses her arms and turns away.

“Of course.” I roll my eyes. Why did I ever think that this child was calm-natured? How could she? She has the stubbornness of both her parents along with Farley’s bossiness and the basic version of Shade’s quick wit.

Forgotten gods, she’s equally annoying and adorable.

I ask for a last try with the cards and after we give up finally, Clara turns her attention to her toys. These land on the floor as well and I really wonder if Farley lets her get away with this. It’s difficult to imagine, but on the other hand, it’s obvious that she spoils Clara.

I watch the girl – who ignores me completely – playing with her plush animals that seem to have some feud going on, maybe one based on real events. She has a seal, a tiger, a panther, something between a dog and a wolf, a bear, a dragon, and a horse. All but the black panther have a light fur and I ask myself if that panther might have a special meaning.

A doorslam pulls me from my contemplations and even Clara spins her head to see Cal. I’m relieved at his arrival, he is so much better with children. He offers me a passing smile as he approaches Clara and sinks to his knees. She puts on a haughty expression until Cal says in a solemn voice, “I have returned, my princess,” and she starts to giggle. I’m gaping.

“I see you have gained new members for your court,” Cal continues, “may I ask to be introduced, madam?”

Clara is beaming. Too bad I didn’t have the idea to take part in her play. I doubt she would’ve let me. Now she holds up the bear and the dragon and prattles on about her story while Cal listens intently. Eventually, I come closer and lean against Cal. Clara’s dedication wavers for a second but it doesn’t break. Instead she grabs the blue-eyed wolf-dog and exclaims, “Mama said we might get a real dog some time soon!”

“Soon?” Cal inquires.

“Umm, … next year, maybe, for my birthday? If Mama trusts me around it, and if nothing happens.”

Cal actually pats her head. “What should happen?”

“Indeed!” she cries out.

Cal smiles and turns to me. “I’ve brought some food, aren’t you hungry?”

* * *

**I accompany Cal** to prepare the food he’s bought. I give him a shove. “Why did you never tell me you baby-sat her before?”

“Aahh …” he flushes silver. “Farley ...”

“The General.”

“Right.” He winks at me. “So, after, Clara has heard I … was a prince …. once,” he gives me an apologizing glance, “she become terribly curious and asked me about it – a lot. I think she finds it glamourous, nothing else. I tried to dissemble, and treated her like a princess instead, and of course, that was even better.

“Then Farley noticed our play and she was not amused.”

I snort. “I can imagine.”

He sighs. “Absolutely. She ordered me to never talk about it again, or she would tell Clara some horrible secrets about me.” Cal shrugs. “She likes it, so let’s risk it.”

I swing my hips against him. “How heroic you are.” 

 


	9. Babysitting part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post-KC. Fluff with Clara, Mare and Cal. A trilogy_

_**A/N:** To those who requested this: This is such incredible fluff, I’m almost ashamed for writing it!_

**Mare POV**

**I still don’t** need an alarm clock to wake me up. But I realize I haven’t gotten up early enough when I hear Clara playing in the kitchen. Panic sets in. She might be doing anything in there and I don’t want to imagine what Farley would do to me if her precious little girl has so much as a scratch. Or even worse, a burn. I hurry over, just pulling a T-shirt over my underwear.

But Clara just frowns at me and my hasty appearance. She stops in her task of carrying plates around.

“Good morning, Mare. You’re hungry?”

I nod, watching her prepare the table for breakfast. She’s skilled at this, even though she can barely reach the shelves. It takes me a moment to start helping her and for once, she doesn’t frown but smiles at me.

“And Cal?” she asks.

I shrug. “Still sleeping on the couch, I suppose.” He let me sleep in Farley’s bed.

Clara tucks my shirt, glances at the sink and sighs. “Cal is still the true prince after all, he left the trash behind. As if someone else will take care of it.”

I see what she means and chuckle. We ate in Clara’s room yesterday and Cal just dumped the empty food boxes in the sink.

“That can’t be tolerated,” I say, crossing my arms. He isn’t much different at home where he often forgets about the trash too.

“No food for him until he’s cleaned up,” announces Clara and leaves the kitchen, probably to wake him up.

I look around as I wait. The food is simple, bread, jam and meat. I decide to heat some water for tea and as I turn, I see the photo wall. There are dozens, most of them documenting Clara growing up with her mother beaming at her. They’re arranged around two photos of Shade and I wasn’t prepared for the pang of sadness. One photo looks like copy of an ID card but the other one I’ve never seen before. It shows Farley and Shade together, grinning at each other. I have no idea how they took it, when, or why they risked it. But I’m glad they did, even though Farley kept it for herself.

Cal yawns when he enters and I regret not putting on my pants when I had the chance. I suppress the awkwardness and give him a kiss. He seems happy, but surprised, until I smile wickedly.

“Clara told you to clean up, didn’t she? So do it.” He moves over with a sigh. “As her Highness Princess Clara commands,” he mutters. Thus Clara and I start eating and watch Cal doing chores.

* * *

**Clara storms out**  after breakfast. While it rained yesterday, the sun shines this morning. Clara has put on rubber boots and jumps in and out of puddles of mud.

“No puns today, Cal,” I say, biting my lips. Cal giggles, no doubt thinking of the same, less innocent memories involving mud, and Clara too in some way. I give him a shove. He still giggles, and that’s the moment I snap. I kick off my shoes and walk over to Clara.

“Mare …?” both Cal and Clara ask almost simultaneously.

_I’m good with children as well, you’ll see._

Then I jump into the puddle too, splashing mud on Clara’s pink dress with flower prints. She gapes at me for several seconds. Until she muddies me back and cackles.

I ignore the thought of who’ll have to clean us up and dive into our play.

“And I thought you’re a princess, Clara!” Cal calls over to us.

“As much as a princess as Mare is! Or Mama!” she retorts.

“Maybe Cal wants to join us too?” I propose.

“Or, even better,” says Clara, “we go swimming in the river.” She eyes the stream bordering their garden.

I pause in a motion and barely stop myself from falling butt-first into the puddle. “You can swim already?” She’s only four, after all.

She blinks. “Of. Course?”

I turn to Cal. Not sure if he’s heard that, I call out, “Clara can swim and wants to play in the river. What about you, Cal?”

I laugh heartily when I see the shiver going over him. “I’ll pass,” he answers, obviously.

I shake my head and pat Clara’s shoulders. To my surprise, she’s shivering as well. “Oh my, are you cold?”

“No.” She objects decidedly but pointlessly.

“Really?” I should rather be more careful with her. “Maybe you want to change your clothes?”

She needs some dragging seconds to reply. Finally, she sighs. “Okay.”

The corners of my mouth twitch. I can’t help brushing her hair, as Farley does so often. Then I wonder if she even likes other people touching it, but she lets me. Good thing I haven’t used my dirty hand. I manage to lift Clara up and bring her to the bathroom.

* * *

**“I’m hungry,” Clara**  proclaims when we’re done.

I raise my eyebrows. “Not enough breakfast?”

She crosses her arms and pouts. “It’s almost lunch. And I’m growing.”

“Definitely.”

Clara can certainly roll her eyes as dramatically as Farley. Or as I. “I just want to pick some cherries, okay? I’ve seen how many are ripe already.” She stares at me. “Or are you too small for that? Don’t worry, we have a ladder.”

I burst out laughing.

“Hey!”

“Right, of course. Well, Cal will be helpful there,” I admit.

* * *

**Cal’s found some**  bowls and carried them to the cherry tree, along with the ladder. I expect Clara to climb it immediately, but she’s content with the low-hanging branches for now. She seems very determined so I hear the  _plunk_  of cherries thrown into her bowl frequently. Cal is less efficient. I watch him stretch himself and pulling down branches to pluck some very red fruits but they end up more often in his mouth than in his bowl. I grin at the sight, even more as his shirt hikes up to reveal a strip of his pretty back.

“Mare!” Clara summons me out of my observations. “The ladder is here for you, so don’t waste Cal’s efforts and use it!”

“Huh?” I blink at her. Clara lets go of her branch and it lashes up. Before I can ask why  _she_  doesn’t use the ladder, she’s already climbing up the tree.

“Clara!” I call out, and Cal does the same. I watch breathlessly as she moves on a branch and then stretches to pick the cherries above her. I continue to ignore the ladder and instead, I position myself directly beneath her, anxiously expecting her to fall down. The girl is truly demanding worry and attention every minute of the day. I wonder how Farley can bear it.

A cherry Clara’s plucked drops on my head. “Careful!” I shout again, meaning both herself and her pickings. Cal joins me in preparing to catch Clara should she lose her balance.

“Get on the ladder,” he hisses, “I’m better at catching her, you climb up to her.”

“And make the branch break?” I retort. Louder, I add, “that’s some great spoils, Clara, you can come down now!”

“Right!” she answers, but she doesn’t move down. She grabs the branch above her, rises slowly and apparently, tries to pull herself up.

“Ah,” Cal cries out, then changes his stance just to do  _something_. Fortunately, Clara gives up and sits down again. And stays that way.

I cross my arms and look at Cal.  _What now?_  I mouth to him.

He shrugs. “Different tactic,” he whispers. Then he says, “well, Clara, I see you have fun there. Keep going. I’ll be on the other side.” So he turns and walks away without haste. Yet Clara doesn’t care. She moves a little and goes back to plucking cherries again while I continue my watch. I’m close to despair, but when I glance at Cal, I notice he only pretends to gather in peace, he’s as nervous as I. I wonder if I rather start picking fruits and ignoring Clara as well, but that seems too risky to me.

Then I hear a door slam and steps on the path. I spin. Farley is back, but I don’t know if should be relieved or preparing myself for reprimands. Fortunately, her focus isn’t on me.

“Clara!” she shouts. The girl turns her head and watches her mother approach. Farley stops next to me and stems her hands on her hips.

“Hi, Mama!” Clara sounds excited but if Farley feels the same, she hides it for now.

“Clara. You know you aren’t really a dove, even if I call you that. You don’t belong in trees.”

“No, Mama.”

“And you can’t teleport like Daddy, or can you now?”

“Ah, no, Mama.” Clara actually starts pouting.

Despite her strict words, Farley looks almost amused, and so does Clara. Farley waves her hand. “Then come down now. Mare – and Cal – down here are seriously worried about you.” Farley pauses. “Or you won’t play with Arthur and your other friends from kindergarten the next week.”

Clara sighs. “Okay.” Finally, she begins to climb down, surprisingly dexterous. Nevertheless, Farley comes to pick her from the tree to have a moment for themselves alone.

“Have Mare – and Cal – been acceptable?” asks Farley.

“They treated me like a princess.”

“Of course.” She drags on the words and pets Clara’s head, then lets her down. “If you can climb by yourself, you can walk by yourself.” It’s might have sounded stern, but she’s smiling. “I’m hungry for lunch, what about you?”

“Umm …”

“Ah, you’ve had some cherries. Well, let’s bring in what you reaped.” Farley winks at us.

With a squeal, Clara takes her bowl and dashes off. I take a breath. Time to receive my rating. “Hi, Farley – ”

“So you brought Cal along?” she interrupts me.

“Um, yes, I did. Wasn’t that okay?”

She glares at me and I feel her questioning my actions, but it only lasts for a second. She relaxes and waves her hand with a smirk. Cal approaches us and offers his hand.

“Hi,” he greets her. To my surprise, Farley just shakes it but her smile is sardonic. I shake my head. She loves to toy with us.

“Good job, you’ve kept Clara well and alive.”

Both Cal and I feel awkward and relieved at the same time. “It was fun,” I say. “Clara is a nice girl.”

“Nice?” Farley laughs. “Well, thanks. For your efforts as well. Will you bring in your cherries? I’ll carry the ladder.”

Cal goes to pick up his bowl as Farley looks into my empty one. “You have nothing? But you even had the ladder.” She raises her eyebrows teasingly.

“Oh, shut up. I was occupied.”

* * *

**Apparently, Clara usually**  naps after lunch, but not without protest and a bedtime story. Farley, after choosing carefully, reads her a tale about a magical horse. It must have Silver blood, I think.

“She’s a treasure,” I admit once Clara has fallen asleep.

“She’s  _my_  treasure,” Farley replies with a besotted smile.

I fight the urge to look at my feet. “How do you do it?” I ask. “Taking care of a child is so …?” I shrug.

She gets what I mean. “Oh, it’s hard. I just do by best. Try and error, doubting myself, hoping for the best, worry all day, show my love, worry some more, asking your mom for advice.” She chuckles. “The colonel can be helpful, too.”

“Who would’ve thought?”

She gestures to leave Clara’s room, then glances along the corridor. We’re alone, Cal’s in the kitchen. “Why do you ask?” she asks. “Do you want your own kid now?” She pats my shoulder when I gasp at her and have to be blushing as red as the cherries.

“Umm, well …”

“No, pressure, you take your time.” 

 


	10. Babysitting part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Post-KC. Fluff with Clara, Mare and Cal. A trilogy_

**Mare POV**

**Farley’s kitchen is** full of prepared food and so far unused decoration. It’s for the party she has invited us to on this evening. She has asked me to come a little earlier to help her and Clara preparing, but then had to go to a sudden meeting. I offered her only a lazy sigh when she told me, as I’ve taken care of Clara a few times by now. My niece and I get along well, even if our similar tempers clash frequently.

I take a break from setting up the patio to make me a coffee. My eyes glide over the kitchen as I wait for the water to boil. Between the bowls and the lanterns and napkins, I see a stack of papers and I start to read a little. It’s just for killing time until I see  _him_. The photo shows him neither in his regalia nor in defeat, but Maven is recognizable enough. I flinch away from the picture and take a breath.

“Maven is a cunt,” I mutter. I’m about to throw the paper into a corner but there’s a part of me urging me to read the article, even though I have to force myself to focus on the words. I both want to deny his existence and to make sure he’s still exiled and under lock and key. Fortunately, it seems like the paper only reports about him because they’ve nothing else to write about, since I can’t glean any new information from the text.

I twitch when I hear a sound behind me. I spin. It’s Clara, getting some plates out.

“Careful, the water is very hot,” I exclaim only to say something but she’s grinning.

“Didn’t notice me before?”

I snort and cross my arms. Clara comes closer and says, “I’m just as sneaky as you are, Mare.”

“Right,” I answer, rolling my eyes. “I’ll never forget you’re a Barrow too, after all.” Finally, I get my coffee and follow her out. A thought crosses my mind – has she heard what I said? I feel myself blushing. I hope she didn’t, but I can’t ponder on the thought because I see a strange little boy in the corridor.

“Who is that?” I ask Clara, trying not to sound impolite despite my surprise.

“This is my friend Arthur, from school,” she explains and pats his shoulder. He’s significantly smaller than her. “Arthur, this is my aunt Mare Barrow, the Lightning … Girl, or whatever.”

The boy inclines his head. “Hello, Ms. Barrow, nice to meet you.” It seems like he has more manners than Clara, who adds, “Arthur just arrived to learn with me, as we planned in school. But we’ll help you first, of course.”

“Thank you very much,” I answer, smiling wryly. Luckily, the tables and benches are already outside, so we only have to attach lanterns on the patio, carry over the dishes and tinker flower and napkin decoration. Farley’s blue-eyed dog watches us but the big animal stays lolling on the side. The children are little perfectionists and for a moment I watch Arthur folding a napkin swan in utter concentration. On a closer look, I see what his brown skin has hidden at first; the greyish colouring of his lips and fingernails. He’s a little Silver and I fight the arising astonishment. This is a wonderful thing. A Red girl, the daughter of famous rebel leaders, is friends with a Silver boy and they treat each other as equals and without prejudices. Isn’t that what we wanted all along?

* * *

**After little more**  than half an hour and several ladder jokes from Clara, I thank them for their help and sent them off. They dash to Clara’s room to do their homework or whatever they planned to do, because when I check on them, I see toys spread out as much as books. After a while, I wonder if I should go back to them and offer my assistance but that’s the moment they leave Clara’s room.

“My mom should come soon,” Arthur explains.

“Yes, he’s not staying for the party. Sad, isn’t it? He should at least have a snack,” Clara proposes.

“Why not?” I glance at the bowls. “But there’s only the food Kilorn has brought so far, so only fish dishes.”

“Nothing’s wrong with fish. At least Kilorn  _can_  cook,” Clara retorts.

“Say that after Kilorn has fed you with fish for 15 years, Clara.”

“Unlike Cal, who’s only good at eating!”

“He isn’t,” I insist. “Cal is the king of the grill!” I’m a bit too passionate, but I look forward to Cal’s steaks.

“King, you say? I thought that’s the forbidden word about Cal?” asks Clara teasingly.

My cheeks heaten at the implication. This girl is too smart for her own good, just like her parents.  _Just like Shade_ , I tell myself, and the thought sobers me as intended.

“I like fish,” Arthur gives in to stop our banter, but not Clara from raising her eyebrows tauntingly.

I lead Arthur into the kitchen to serve him some salmon with bread. He cuts the slice and picks the pieces up with a fork, weirdly well-mannered for a six-year-old. Suddenly, he stops. He looks around and clears his throat. “Ms. Barrow, Clara said … I mean, what did you mean when you said, ‘Maven is a cunt’?”

Oh damn. Damn, damn. Clara  _did_  hear what I said and immediately told her friend. I try my best to stop myself from gaping but I have no control over my blood rushing to my face. I smile to keep up a slightly neutral expression. “It’s nothing special,” I say, “it just means I think that Maven is a very bad man who deserves where he is. But I shouldn’t have said that, it’s a very terrible word to use.” I sigh. “You seem like a good boy, Arthur, so can I ask you not to use that word again? Can you just forget it?” I sound awfully pleading but this only damage control. I hope he will listen to me, and indeed, he nods.

“Certainly, Ms. Barrow. Already forgotten. Thank you so much for the food, it’s delicious.”

“I’ll tell Kilorn,” I reply, smiling again. I wish Clara was this polite but then again, it isn’t in us and that’s not a bad thing. I’m relieved when Arthur’s mother, a police officer, finally shows up to take him home, in the very moment Cal arrives as well with the meat he’s bought. Clara and I wave off Arthur who stares at Cal, the prince-no-longer, clearly recognizing him.

I give Cal a kiss. “I hope you’ve got good steaks,” I whisper.

“Only the best for you.” His gaze travels over the decoration. “Pretty. Did you do all this yourself?”

“I had help from Clara and her friend.” I search for her and find her playing with her dog and a ball. She can be so cute and innocent, yet I prepare myself mentally to explain my bad word slip to Farley who should’ve been here already. Suddenly, Cal starts giggling as if taunting my somber mood. “What?”

He can’t stop himself. “I just thought, um, we should hire Clara and her friend for our own wedding party, they’re really talented.”

I stare at him. “You don’t mean that.” He shrugs, grinning. “The future Mr. Barrow still makes too many dumb jokes,” I add. But his laugh is contagious, even more so because he continues, listing more and more ideas for our impending wedding and waking my anticipation. I pay attention to Clara not listening this time, or she’ll talk about it for the rest of the day.

Instead I hear the dog barking when Farley shows up. She caresses both her and Clara as their habit of displaying their attention still hasn’t vanished. After they’re done and Farley has inspected the patio, I clear my throat and ask her for a talk. Fortunately, she’s in a good mood, so she only gets more amused as I report of my slip. At one point, she needs to cover her mouth with her hand to quieten her laughter. “Mare, seriously, you don’t think I’ve never let a swear word slip before?” she confesses. Well, she does have a quick temper and gets often loud. “Not the first time I’ll have to handle this,” she confesses. “But that was an especially vulgar choice. Not that Maven doesn’t deserve it. Wait, no, it’s rather too good for him.”

I chuckle at the remark. “You’re right. He was beaten by girls after all.”

 


	11. Not The Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alternate ending of KC_

**_A/N:_ ** _One more day until War Storm, one last day for denial! Enjoy this, dear followers, as long as you can._

_Love you_

* * *

**Mare POV**

**“Monfort pledges to**  back the installment of King Tiberias,” Davidson announces and takes my breath away.

A current of heat ripples in the air. Cal has to be angry, violently so. But still he stands next to me like a column of basalt. A frozen heat, his hand grabbing mine. I feel sweat of fear on my neck, on my back, as my heartbeat accelerates. Shock and confusion are the emotions I see on Farley’s face, ones I share, whereas smug satisfaction has overtaken the Samos king and the Lerolan queen.

“Premier Davidson,” Cal says, “what does this mean? You’ve never implied – “

“My dear grandson,” Anabel Lerolan cuts in, “I am very grateful for the Premier’s cooperation in restoring your birth right. Truly, this alliance will be a blessing.”

Davidson betrays no emotions, sitting down in his chair again.

“No,” Cal objects. “No, Grandmother.” His voice is strangely calm and cold compared to the heat he emits, travelling from his veins into mine. He clears his throat. “I am sorry, but I cannot agree to this. I fear this is a misunderstanding.”

“Young Tiberias,” Samos snarls, and I suspect he intends to chastise Cal like he did with Iral, “you are the one who misunderstands. We offer you our daughter as your queen, a princess and your equal, along with our troops to depose the usurper you called brother and restore your throne.”

A low chuckle escapes his chest. Only I can hear it, I think. But when I look to Evangeline, I see fingers crawling into her metal armour, drawing inconspicuous silver blood. Desperation mixed with a wild hope shimmers in her eyes.

_She doesn’t want this._

Finally, Cal moves again, even if he’s just changing his balance. “You say I should be happy for your support, King Volo?” he asks. “I am, and I should, since you so gracefully saved our day as our alliance demanded. But I doubt that entitles you to decide my fate – nor that of Norta, since you pride yourself of having divorced your territory from hers.

“If that is what your people desire, so be it. I’ll grant you that. But I fear, Your Majesty, that you too much to demand. How can I trust you – or your daughter – with my life after I saw you change your prime allies four times in less than a year? So, whom do you even serve but yourself?”

His words turn the room into a powder keg, even without my sparks or his flames. Just with words, as Maven prefers to. But while very word of Maven’s is calculated, aimed to achieve a specific result, I fear Cal’s speech will spread a wildfire in this assembly.

Volo Samos certainly fumes, as if his armour was made of mercury and its poisonous vapours.

Yet Farley is the first to jump up, her fists crashing onto the table. “Comrades,” she hisses, “I think we went into these negotiations with incorrect expectations. It’d be for the best if each party re-assesses their objectives among themselves once more.” Her voice is harsh and strong, cold as the winters of her homeland. “Do you agree, Premier Davidson?”

Davidson straightens, fingers twitching. Maybe in preparation for his shield, should things really escalate. “I agree, General Farley,” he says. “We’ll meet again in two hours hence, ladies and gentlemen. Some of us might still be exhausted from our victorious battle.” He rises and leaves. Behind him, I see Farley mouth something to me.

_It’s a bait._

* * *

**I could’ve asked**  Farley for more, but I understand easily enough. Davidson planned a bait to lure in Silver allies, helping us defeat our mutual enemy. Maven. And I can see more unfolding later on, as those factions will undoubtedly turn against each other in their hunger for power, sooner or later.

Davidson thought Cal was one of them, yet he was wrong. The ex-prince stays with me, holding my hand and dashing off to search for a lone corner in the corridors of the administrative tower of Corvium. Not with his Nanabel. Not falling on his knees to make a proposal to Evangeline Samos.

_He chose me._

“You botched their plans, ‘Tiberias’,” I say, smirking and he finally stops in his tracks. He’s graver than me.

“I’m done being someone’s puppet, Mare,” he says. “They think they just need to tell me something, ‘advise me’, and I’ll jump. But I know their ilk better now. They just use different ways, but all of them want to be Elaras.”

“ _They_?” I mumble. He shakes his head, likely remembering what the whisper queen made him do and how horrible it was. I let myself fall against his chest. I feel his heart beating, fast, while my body quivers. It’s the thrill of the fight lingering in me. Yet it’s also a different blend of fear and excitement, not for the threat of dying but for betrayal, a betrayal that was barely avoided.

His hands slightly roam over my back, with their comforting warmth. I pull him tighter. “What will we do now?” I murmur.

He understands well enough. “We’ll see, Mare. There’s always another day to come.”

I have to chuckle. “A little naïve, isn’t it?” But it’s also true. We’ll face the uncertain future together. 


	12. The Peak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Clara and Farley, a few years later_

**Clara POV**

**She held my** hand as we left the cable car and she still did when I took the lead, out of the station and onto the platform just beneath the peak of the highest mountain in Montfort open for visitors.

“Zip your jacket close, Clara,” she reminded me, ever the worrying mom. “And remember the sunglasses.”

I did not like the sunglasses. But I obeyed, although I had the urge to lift them again and peer at the brightness of the sun up here, warming the place despite its height and the crisp, strong winds. It felt … odd.

Mama almost bumped into me as I stopped. “Not as cold as in the reports,” she mumbled, and her other hand patted my shoulder. I breathed in and stepped forward again, but actually, the height _was_ getting at me. I looked over the edge of the rail, over the mountain slopes. It wasn’t as great as I’d imagined – the clouds beneath us hid much of the view of the lands below.

“Let’s sit down on the bench,” Mama said as I hesitated to move. I nodded. It was really odd here. The thin air made me dizzy, but only a little, while this weird feeling lingered, like a whispering, on-going tune in my ears. I shook my head and sat down with Mama next to me, her arm over my shoulders.

It was easier to take in the view and be awed while seated. On the drive up to the lower cable car station, we passed forested hills and slopes and ridges from the curviest roads, but here were only bare earth and stones. Dark, jagged rocks.

Mama sighed, looking around like me. Maybe wondering if raiders or rebels had ever hidden here. Then she searched through her bag and handed me a bottle of water. At least she didn’t tell me to drink or eat this time.

“I’d like to go around now,” I said, after a sip from the bottle.

Mama still fumbled, likely for food. “Okay,” she said and smiled faintly. Besides her sunglasses, I saw the thin wrinkles around her eyes, although she still looked young otherwise, despite her scars. The sunlight gleamed golden on her hair, now longer and fixed in a tiny ponytail with numerous hairclips. A few curls had become loose by the wind, though fewer than mine.

I felt her watching my steps over the uneven path. Even when she didn’t remind or warn me about something, she looked out for me. When she was with me. But then I could rely on her, I knew.

Yet once her gaze strayed and I happened to notice. Maybe I was watching her, too. Her eyes had fallen on a young man with a child. He wore only a T-shirt, unlike us, with arms slightly darker than mine. Mama looked away soon, but I saw the envy in her eyes. Because I felt the same. My dad could be a man like that, but he wasn’t with us. None of us could forget. It wasn’t that Mama wanted a replacement for him or thought such a guy or her girlfriend Ada could be one. _I miss what could’ve been_ , she’d told me once. _It would’ve been lovely_. She’d been close to tears that day.

But the man beside us wasn’t my dad, he might not even be anyone’s. He was only a guide of the park and the station and the child went back to their real family. I squeezed Mama’s hand. I wished I could forget this feeling, for a moment. I just wanted this trip to be nice. And I liked it, didn’t I? The weather was extreme and tired me, but it also made me feel bigger, more than a kid of eight years. Although a place like this might make people feel small.

But it shouldn’t surprise me it was different for me. I'd learned to walk on the steep streets of Montfortan towns, always going either up or down, what was the difference to a “real” mountain peak?

Once we’d walked the path around the platform, a group awaited us, and Mama  lowered her face. She didn’t want to be recognized, to be saluted as General Farley on our family trip. I wanted the same, my mother, not the war hero. I sidled to a bench, letting go of her hand for the first time. I urged the people beside me to make space, so Mama could join me. She smiled wryly. Thoughtful. I took a bread roll this time and we ate with the mountainscape in sight.

Eventually, Mama gathered our boxes again. “We can queue for the next ride going down,” she said. I nodded. Her eyes fixed on me even behind the dark shades. Do you like it here?” she asked.

I hesitated. I did like it. But that wasn’t really the point, was it? If I said, _yes, thank you Mama, it’s great_ , it’d feel fake. Like a half truth.

“You don’t have to do something special with me when you come back,” I said. “It’s enough that you’re here.” I couldn’t say more, or I’d cry. I’d talk about the fear coming every time she left, gripping me until she hugged me first thing when she returned. I’d talk about being left alone, no matter that my grandparents and uncles and aunts were around. If she didn’t come back one day, if something happened to her, I would’ve lost both my parents to the war. It felt so unfair just to think of it.

Mama took my hand again and I leaned against her, but she’d sat up straight and was a little stiff. Only her quivering lip moved. “Mama,” I said, “I know you have to. It’s important, and for me too, but …” I sniffed, and she pulled me onto her lap.

“I’ve never made promises to you,” she whispered. “About coming home, since I can never be certain. I don’t want to lie to you, dove, not ever.” I shook my head and she went on. “But I swear, I’ll always do my best to stay safe and return to you.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she replied, with her typical smirk. I’d heard her enemies found it scary, and her in general too, or so Mare said. But I only saw my loving badass mom.


	13. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after War Storm.

**Evangeline POV**

**I grit my** teeth against the cold and start running. I try to chase it away, let the exertion heat my body. I don’t wear much against the weather, expecting to warm up quickly, after which thick clothing will only bother.

But it takes so, so long.

I squint my eyes against the rising sun, against the crispy air slapping my face, yet they start tearing up anyway. No matter. It’s always cold in Montfort, but there are those – small – things in its landscape that remind me of home, of the Rift, and I welcome anything that brings me closer to it, if only in my imagination

_I didn’t wish for that kind of reminder._

I just have to keep on, to run, until I feel every one of my muscles, until I can forget and relax.

I couldn’t sleep any longer with the unopened letter in our apartment. I’ve tried to, then I’ve finally given up and got up, to train as usual instead of staying in Elane’s arms. She likes sports, but she’d never join me on my morning runs. Now she misses the spectrum of dawn, the red, green, turquoise of the sky, although it looks like it was made for her to play with. In the end, she’s more likely to stay up all night than to rise up early to watch it.

The sky seems so far away, even as I jog toward it. It’s partly hidden by the peaks, and I wonder whether the street was built with the intent to make the sunrise visible between the mountains around Ascendant, that cover the street itself in shadows. The dark spots turn this morning even more eerie and lonely. There’s no one here but me, and I feel like the city belongs to me alone, a most lonesome queen.

_Queen._

I grind my teeth at the thought, alternating with gasping and panting from exertion. Finally, the training start to work and the runner’s high sets in, along with radiating flame in my veins. A deceptive one, because I know my skin will still be frigid, with a freeze settling in my body if I don’t take care.

I snap at taking care. _I can take a bath with Elane when I’m back_ , I tell myself as I keep on running away, as if I don’t know that Mother’s letter is waiting for me at home too.

I reach the main plaza in strides. The sky’s already shifting into pink and yellow, and eventually, it lets the city regain its colours as well. Apart from me, forever a study in monochromes of silver and black.

_Elane would make the rainbow colours dance in my hair._

This image makes me smile, for the first time today. Elane can light up all of my moods. I miss her presence, but the run was a good decision. Even she can’t change the gloomy memories that war with the joy of training in my mind.

I’m finally distracted so well that I don’t notice the persons on the edge of the plaza until it’s too late. I stop short as I recognize them; I’m close to jumping behind a leafless scrub as I curse inwardly at them, the general and her daughter.

So many months, I’ve evaded a meeting like this. Just on a dreadful day like this I have to fail. Now they sit on a bench facing the sunrise. The girl babbles and wriggles, to her mother’s amusement.

“That’s great, Clara.” I hear the general laugh, and then the girl.

“Da … dan,” she utters.

“’Dawn’?” The general points to the sun. “Awesome!” she praises, but I wince. Of course, the first word the child says is their ridiculous motto, yet however she picked it up, I doubt she understands it.

The general beams at her nonetheless and cups her face as Clara continues. “Can you say ‘Clara’?” Farley prompts, touching Clara’s nose, then points to herself: “Or ’Mama’?”

“Daf,” says Clara.

The general sighs, unshaken, and gets up with the girl in her arms. I stumble and freeze, realizing it’s too late to dash out of their way.

_Why did you have to watch them in the first place, Samos?_

But I know why. I step back and look away, yet I can already feel the general’s searing gaze on me. Now that I’ve stopped, sweat beads down my back and increases the cold that creeps in again. Blood rushes to my cheeks and I bite my lip – in embarrassment. What has become of me, that I cover before a Red and an infant?

I shake my head and meet Farley’s eyes. “I hear the little bastard is speaking, good for you,” I sneer, and all I see is Farley gaping, her chin dropping almost to her knees.

I wince, cursing myself for saying the first words that fell on my tongue. Before I can add anything, the general has strikes back. “Since you can’t hardly expect that to insult me,” she snaps, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it. For your benefit.”

_As if_. “I apolo –”

“No need,” she snarls. “If anything, I should be sorry _for you_ , because you obviously think somewhat irrelevant like ‘bastardy’ matters.”

But that’s still a lie. Her grip on the child tightens, as if she wants to protect her from me. I see a tremble in her stance and hurt in her eyes, because, after all, I _did_ insult her daughter and her relationship to her father. Diana Farley is a spirited woman who won’t let go until she’s had her revenge on me. The flash of anger shifts into a vile grin, and I can already guess her next sentence that creates this somber amusement.

_“If it hadn’t been for your brother, Clara wouldn’t be a fatherless ‘bastard’ –“_

She opens her mouth and I know only one way to intercept her. “You’re right,” I say. She blinks as I stare directly into her eyes, as unwavering as she’s known for.

I’m a mistress in that art as well.

“I am sorry for myself for thinking legitimacy is important for a child,” I say.

Assessing me, she doesn’t give away any reaction. She only looks on for long seconds, so when she finally breaks eye contact and moves back to the bench, I startle. Farley doesn’t notice, placing her daughter on the bench. Standing on the seat, the child leans against its back, gazing at me. That surprises me, although she’s surely old enough to stand and walk if she begins to speak.

Maybe I wonder because she’s more wool than child in her thick clothes. Unlike her, I have to suffer the November chill.

“What happens when you Silvers have children out of wedlock?” the general asks and my head spins to her, searching for a non-existent sneer in her face.

I shrug. “I’d be disgraced,” I say, airily, to ignore the hole that opens in me. “I would’ve proven myself unreliable and thus lose my status, privileges, influence. Until I might regain them by starting anew and stooping to my father, to everyone. Otherwise, I could only hope for an advantageous arrangement to be found for … for the child.” I smirk and stare on as cold sweat of stress gathers on my skin. General Farley has carelessly prodded on the broken shards in my heart that hold together only by their own weigh.

I roll my shoulders to put them back in place. The general only licks her lips, continuing to ponder. I should just go, and ready myself to dash off.

“I was curious about this for a while,” the general says then. “There … seems to be such a great importance to have children among Silvers,” she goes on, tilting her head. “So why would your father, or your family, care whether you’re married or not? It would still be the child of you, the metal princess.”

She’s really trying to sound curious, inquiring, and not condemning. But scorn washes over me nonetheless. My fists clench as I hiss, “because it would’ve happened out of _his control_.”

Even now, every part of me tenses at the thought. I’ve always known or guessed what was allowed and what not, and never did I understood why a Silver would risk their standing for illicit lovers or children. As I realized I was lesbian, I was actually proud it’d never happen to me. Until I had to feel Mother’s snide remarks and Father’s unspoken disdain on me after all, how they begrudged me thwarting their expectations by loving Elane and craving to be with her.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on my shoulder. I flinch, but not enough to break touch. Of course, the general notices my discomfort and I want to spit in her considerate face. But I don’t even lift my head.

She moves her hand away. “My father thought I was stupid for getting pregnant at the time,” she tells me. “He didn’t say that aloud, or told me what to do about it. I would’ve truly given him hell if he had. But there were always the implications, the disappointment, the doubts. In the open, I’ve called him out for it, him or anyone else. But in my head, when I was alone at night, I’d doubt myself the most. And then I did everything I could to prove them wrong, to show how capable I was.” She sighs. Even without her touch, she’s still so close to me. I try not to resent her for that.

Only when she goes back to her daughter, I look up slowly. She’s patting her head, and Clara babbles again. The general bends down to listen.

“Daf,” Clara says again and Farley smiles beatifically. Ignorant of expectations.

“Was that supposed to mean something?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

Farley’s gaze spins, confused at first. She opens her mouth, then hesitates. I incline my head. I do not mean her daughter’s puzzling accomplishments.

The general straightens her posture, Clara’s hand wrapped around her fingers. “Nothing,” replies Farley.

I frown.

She clears her throat. “Make of it what you will. Just this. In the end, Clara was worth everything.”

“Not your victory?”

Her face twitches. “I’ve asked myself that question too often not to know it’s a useless one,” she corrects me. “That are different things. Clara is my family. The … proof that her father and I loved each other.” She turns to lift the girl off the bench and lowers her to the ground – maybe to hide a flush. When she looks up, the child still holds her hand.

“I can’t have that, you know,” I say, crossing my arms. “Not with the person I love. Not as easy as that.”

I suppose she’s stunned I’ve overcome my moment so quickly – or at least have it shoved away. Now she flushes for real, even gapes a little. I almost believe she’ll leave without a retort this time.

Instead she comes closer, Clara tripping behind her with the smallest steps. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I hope you’ll find what you want with her. Yet. You shouldn’t think you’re the only girls loving other women.” She pulls away, blinking, then she catches herself and flashes me a last smirk.

Left behind and irked, I gape at her assumption. Elane and I are friends with Clara’s aunt Gisa and her girlfriend, and she has to know that.

_She has to know that._

Once I realize her meaning, I take her words as the gift they are.

Perhaps, we are alike, Diana Farley and I. Despite the backlashes, we’re women who yearn and want and fight to receive.

* * *

**I run home** fast, to get back to Elane’s arms, and to harbour the strength to read Mother’s letter.


	14. Take. It. Off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request. Takes place about 1,5 years after War Storm

**Mare POV**

**I’ve been advised** not to wear black.

“Purple,” Gisa decided in an instant.

“Shoulder-free,” said Farley.

“With a train longer than you,” demanded Kilorn.

And Evangeline, the expert on Silver fashion and the first to speak against black since it isn’t exactly the custom, handed me a black pin instead, shaped into an exploding star with merely a thought. I couldn’t read her expression, whether the whole thing amused or sobered her.

Attending a funeral in Delphie as the sole Montfort representative certainly sobers me.

There are other Scarlet Guard members left in Delphie and the rest of Norta, but all I know of them is that Farley calls them “agreeable,” whatever that means. So I straighten my posture as I step out of the plane and onto the Delphie airfield. Under the grey midday sky, a cold and sudden gush greets me and makes me squint my eyes. _What a lovely start._

“Corporal Barrow.”

I turn my head to the speaker. My escort, obviously, a Silver and security officer whose name tag says Welle. He salutes me.

I salute in return with a bit too much of a flourish of my fingers. Sparks fly off and the corners of my mouth twitch as Welle’s face freezes.

I’ve learned showing off well from Evangeline and Farley.

I point ahead and let Welle guide me to a transport. I stop before I enter. “My condolences,” I say quietly.

He nods, his face grim. “Thank you,” he says in a husky voice.

* * *

 **The streets leading** from the airfield to the residence of Delphie are strangely pristine as well as empty. I see no other transport in the avenue flanked by flags at half-mast, only bright mansions with the occasional dashes of colours. House colours, likely, either by tradition or alliance, and most of them are the Lerolan red and orange.

It feels fake, like a pretend, a show created for me that is typical for Silvers. They need so much to present only ever their best side that they exaggerate and make it unbelievable. Evangeline can complain endlessly about this if she’s in a talking mood.

I know that Delphie loved the queen dowager as much as Cal. For all we know, the city is in order and agreeing to the new laws, but it’s irks me I’m brought through the “nobles’” quarter as if the Reds have to be hidden from me.

I sigh, pressing my brow against the window. This is a courtesy visit, one that might take a more personal turn, but I’m aware I’m expected to report on more than pretty pageants of grief.

* * *

 **The palace resembles** the mansions’ white and cream-coloured architecture, despite lacking their embellishments. This building is elegant in its simplicity.

To my surprise, Welle offers me a hand as I exit the transport. I almost smirk at the lady-like treatment and accept his help, wondering if he fears an electrical smack from me and fights the fear by touching me deliberately.

He doesn’t even flinch. “You’re welcome in Delphie, Corporal Barrow,” he says. “May the queen dowager rest in peace.”

I mumble the words with him before I go on, not sure if I mean them.

* * *

 **I’ve seen my** share of palaces by now that I guess I’ve grown accustomed to them. Gone are the days I feared their halls of splendour, although the dark memories linger, always waiting in the back of my mind. Delphie’s residence doesn’t wake them, with its interior design as simple as the outside. It might be called boring compared to other places, but I find that it calms me with its creamy shades and few, flame-like, flashes of orange decorations.

I settle into the room assigned to me, spreading my limbs on the thick bed, carefully, so I don’t undo the crown Gisa braided my hair into. Apart from the dress, it’s the only part of my outfit already prepared. The rest I’ll have to do myself.

I find the schedule for today on the bedside table and check the time on the grandfather clock. Surely what the palace lacks in ornaments it makes up in the richness of the furniture. It might look simple, but no less expensive.

According to my invitation, I’m officially here for the memorial gala and banquet in the evening, the reason for my outfit and a chance to assess the political entities here in person. But before, less opulent, the essential funeral service for Anabel Lerolan will take place. More private, less shiny, and more honest an event, I suppose.

There’s still time; with a little refreshing and instruction for the way, I could join the funeral. I could stand with Cal, if I wanted. If I got up and dared.

And yet I wait.

If he’d wanted me to at his side, he would’ve asked for it. He would’ve sent a personal note, a letter that told me that he missed me, that he needed me. But my invitation was as formal as any note Montfort received from Delphie.

That doesn’t have to mean anything. A grieving Cal is a passive Cal, I guess. I could search for him, take his hand as he says goodbye to his grandmother. But I hesitate and stay where I am, until it’s too late to leave.

* * *

 **My gown jumps** out of the trolley as I open it. The purple and silver gown, with its valance and train and a black mourning sash, takes way too much space, reminding me that I’m not here for long as I’ve packed accordingly. Carefully, I gather the dress in my arms and find myself surprised by the little extra in the baggage – an accessory I didn’t know about. It makes me smile. Gisa must’ve put it in, thinking my hair might need another finish: a filigree crown of lightning.

For a minute, I can’t decide whether to put on the dress or the makeup first. Finally, I pick up the dress, then feel overdressed until the makeup is done. It’s a mix of simple and sparkle, so I appear adorned but not painted. I like the result. This time, in Mareena Titanos’s colours, I don’t hide who I am, Mare Barrow, Red and the Lightning Girl.

Although I don’t really feel like a girl anymore, even as my life has become easier in Montfort. I look at me in the mirror and see the changes of the last two years: my hair shinier, no bags under my eyes, rounder everywhere with my shoulders broader. The shoulder-free dress shows this as Farley has recommended. I’m still small, but not delicate or frail. I’ll never be frail again. It’s difficult to call oneself beautiful, but today, I wish it was so easy to feel beautiful and proud and at ease. I’m only twenty and feel like I’ve already lived a whole life.

My smile wanes and my eyes fall on the burn scar under my collarbone, also plainly visible. I grimace, although I’ve seen it often enough. I don’t want to erase it, I don’t want to hide it. But I know about the attention it always calls for, asking people to reduce me to it and what it stands for, in their opinions: _The Lightning Girl who was Maven Calore’s pet. The Lightning Girl who killed him. A mercurial, dangerous person who can’t be trusted._

I’m still not sure if I like my reputation. But I believe if Gisa wanted me in this dress, she’s thought of a solution. And indeed, I find a silver necklace to wear and distract from the brand. I’m not hiding anything, I just reduce it to one of the many scars on my skin that bespeak my strength and survival.

* * *

 **The overwhelming richness** of Silver events usually undermines its effect, as your eyes are saturated too quickly to let everyone make an impression. Just like today. There’s no great entrance for me and my storm-cloud of a dress in black, purple and silver, despite its valances and train, becomes merely one of many. The stairs to the banquet hall turn into an anteroom as the guests and speakers wait to enter. I can find no familiar faces.

This doesn’t improve once we get seated and people begin to hold eulogies for Anabel Lerolan. There’re too many and too short speeches to have impact. I’m bid on the stage somewhere in the forgettable middle, unable to say more than what Davidson and his ministry agreed on. Not like I have much to say about Anabel, less something favourable, but this isn’t the place for criticism either. I know what – _who_ – I’m here for.

My eyes search for him in the crowd, behind the stage, in the corners. But I can’t see beneath the bright limelight. So I make the points I have to make and return to my seat, enduring dull and praising speeches as I wait for the deceased’s grandson to appear, taking notes about the most relevant people. Cal has to be last speaker if he hasn’t shown up until now, yet the event just goes on and on. In a moment of weakness, I sink down in my chair and that’s when someone taps on my bare shoulder.

I start upwards and glance behind me, still wary. But the face that greets me is in too much awe to notice.

“…glorious…” Cal whispers as he leans over my chair.

I begin to smile as well.

He wears a uniform in Nortan black that’s rather a common dress uniform than royal attire. I’m certain I’ve seen more people in the same outfit tonight and wonder whether he’s personalized it in some way, whether I’ll have the chance to let my fingers glide over him. He’s had the advantage to touch me first with his hot fingertips and I crave to follow suit.

The corners of his mouth twitch and he cranes his neck toward the stage that Larentia Viper is exiting. His hair is longer now, falling over his ears as he moves.

“Look how she gloats,” Cal mumbles, and I turn my eyes on Lady Viper. She hardly looks like she’s mourning indeed. But neither am I, unless for Cal’s sake.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s had a hand in this,” he says bitterly and yet, I still find a smile – for me – hidden in his face. He rises. “My slot has come, Mare,” he tells me, holding my hand. I haven’t even noticed I’ve lifted mine to his. I almost consider him kissing it.

He merely gives it a squeeze. “See you later, Mare,” he says.

“Yes,” I promise.

* * *

 **Having sat enough** , I stroll the banquet hall with my plate. I offer smiles and small talk and condolences while deep down, the situation feels very unfamiliar. In Montfort, I have friends and can relax with them but Norta is different. Whether Mareena or Mare, I wasn’t free at those parties but watched and restrained, as well as literally chained. Now, I’m like any other guest and still evaded if I don’t bridge the distance. Not that that _really_ bothers me, it just reminds me that legal equality won’t change the minds and habits of people. I try to talk to those who’ve stuck out to me, with Reds and Newbloods welcoming me, but most of the guests are Silvers sticking and sneering together.

I can’t see an atmosphere that’s any different from the dim balls of the Calore kings.

I exchange my empty plate for a wine flute to chug down before I head outside. I need both of my hands to tame the mass of my gown in the garden. At least it isn’t raining, although the grass is wet. To my astonishment, the garden is small but also wild and green, almost secluded compared to the open spaces of the palace. As if another, more personal mind designs and gardens it.

 _Tramy would love it_ , I marvel at the spots lit enough to examine closely. I step toward a hydrangea, skirts pulled up to protect them from the scrubs, when a shadow in the corner moves.

I spin, lightning in my hand. This place might be beautiful, but it’s also perfect for assassins.

The sizzling of my sparks is met with laughter and a flare. My eyes widen and my hands fall. “I should’ve known you’ll pick a private spot for our tryst,” I tease Cal.

He shrugs, amused. “I’m stunned I’ve anticipated you coming here.”

I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow as I inch toward him. I’m glad he can banter, yet I can see his grief mingling with relief over meeting me. Relief that he finally has someone else to talk to?

He scoops me up when I’m still a metre in front of him, fighting my skirts as I jump into his arms. I kiss him hungrily, my hands on him at last, on his chest, shoulders, neck, and hair. At some point, I manage to wrap my legs around his hips for a second, before gravity and frills force them back down again. But his hands hold on to me, and their presence on my back send a surge of want through me.

_How could I ever let go of this?_

I want to feel his skin on mine and our pretty clothes are suddenly the most useless things in the world.

He steps forward, so I step back and imagine falling into the hydrangea scrubs. I giggle under his kisses before I realize that wouldn’t be nearly as dreamy as in my head. Gently, I shove Cal away. “It’s getting cold,” I say jokingly.

He nods, and when he bends over me, I think he might pick me up and carry me away. He only kisses my brow which causes a shiver over my skin that has nothing to do with the night’s chill. _I can’t be cold when he’s with me. And now, I want him to set me on fire._

I take his hand in mine, not intending to let go for a long time. I turn back inside, but Cal doesn’t move. He watches me thoughtfully, before he touches the crown on my head.

“Nice,” he says, with a whiff of irony. He pulls it out of my hair, removing a hairpin along with it, and puts it onto his own brow.

I feel several tresses of my hair slip loose from the braid and I tuck them behind my ears eagerly. “Take. It. Off,” I snarl.

A corner of his mouth twitches. “Don’t say it doesn’t become me.”

I harrumph, stretch my legs and pull the crown off him. “This isn’t funny, Cal,” I insist. “We were over this.”

His face falls. “It felt like a good joke.” He shrugs. “You wore it in the first place.”

I sigh, laying my hand flat on his chest and letting it rest there. Beneath my palm, I can feel his breathing. I look up into his eyes, with their bronze flame I’ve missed so much. “That’s right. For me, it’s a joke. But not when you do it.”

He breathes in sharply as he grasps that. I see he does understand, even when he doesn’t say so. But I want him to say it, and keep up my stare.

He touches my shoulder and I bite my lip. “I’m sorry,” he admits. “I needed …”

I incline my head and lift my hand to caress his unusually clean-shaven cheek. “These days must be hard days for you,” I say. “My condolences.”

He doesn’t reply but hugs me close, undoing the rest of my hair with it. My outfit is likely completely dishevelled by now, yet Cal has precedence over showing myself impeccable to the Silver guests. My fingers travel over his back, and from the way his whole body calms, I believe it helps him.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “I shouldn’t leave you out here, Mare,” he says while pulling away. “It’s rude to keep you in the cold. We could go to a room – “

“Do you think I can be cold with you around?”

Shaking his head, he mutters, “being indoors has its advantages.”

“Indeed,” I agree, and hand in hand, we go back inside, turning quickly into a lonely corridor. Although enough people must’ve noticed us anyway.

Suddenly, he stops. “Your hair?”

“Oh, that?” I grin. “I’m proud of it.” Because now that it’s loose, he can see the whole of it, wavy and a lush brown. No dead grey ends, no purple in it. Healthy hair. “I got tired of dyeing it and realized it’s good as it is.” A good life in Montfort did that for me.

Hesitantly, his hands pat my head, tresses gliding through his fingers. “It’s gorgeous,” he murmurs.

I bite back my laughter, meeting his eyes again as out fingers intertwine. “Is this what you want?” I ask. “One stolen night together, on the day of your grandmother’s funeral?”

His sigh is deep and pained. “All these days, I had to play pretend for everyone. But not tonight. I want something for myself. And for us.” The last sentence holds a question inside. Whether this will be more and last, or exactly as I called it.

I kiss him. “I’m glad I can make you smile,” I say.

I don’t have an answer yet. But I know I want the same as Cal and so we move to my room where he sits down on the bed and asks me to take off my dress.

I’m more than ready.


	15. Take It Off: The Smutty Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be aware of sexual content. Proceed at your own risk.

**Mare POV**

**I let my** gown drop to the floor and step out of it and my shoes, towards Cal. I grin. He’s kicked off his shoes and fumbles with his belt buckle when I reach him. My hand grabs his shoulder, my lips kiss his brow. Only wearing underpants, I sit down on his lap, legs akimbo.

He gasps, and I feel his muscles tense, both of us fighting to maintain balance in this position. Because I’m not merely enthroned on his lap, but starting to unbutton his jacket and shirt, interchanging with kissing his neck and nibbling his ears.

“Do you like what you see?” I ask when I find the breath to speak.

His face reveals amazement. A finger, lingering on my hip before, moves up from my waist to my breast and over my collarbones. His eyes burn into mine. “You’re beautiful. A force of nature.”

I kiss him hungrily. Hearing this melts my heart more than his flames, although it’s astounding how much I relish these words. My body is scarred and became bigger in the last years. I like it as it is, but I also enjoy his love for it.

Cal sways, his hands holding on to my thighs. I stop in my tracks and moan as heat spreads where he touches me. I almost rip off the last of the buttons when I yank off his shirt and shove him backwards onto the bed.

I get up, pulling on his slacks and notice his arousal. I smile as I go to my suitcase to retrieve the condoms I’ve brought. The whole strip of them. When I return, Cal has finished with the slacks and begins to remove his underpants playfully slowly once he sees me watching him.

I get rid off my own much quicker. Cal groans when I let myself fall onto the bed, taking in its thick softness and I free one or several blankets and jostle them behind us. Not quick enough for Cal. His touch is light but warm and bidding and I respond suitably. With a condom ready, I sit down on him for the second time this night.

Our passion that laid low for so long leads to a fast climax, but we’re far from done. I can’t get enough of his skin on mine and we trace routes on each other’s bodies until Cal’s kisses move from my face to the rest of my body, to every part of my body. Besides his tongue, his hands are his greatest assistants and I bite back gasps and moans when his palms incite me wherever they are, but never too hot. It’s masterful. Even before he’s done, I wonder where he learned and trained this. But I don’t want to know, not at all. I stop to think as he satisfies me.

Afterwards, his face says he’s all aware of my amazement, as my cheeks, blushing from arousal and excitement, must make it obvious. My hands roam through his hair, taking in its new silky lengths. “Let me return the favour,” I whisper and it’s my turn to explore his body with kisses and more.

My electricity hums along with our heartbeats and a few times, sparks jump from my fingers. “Careful,” Cal groans, and although this trick of mine isn’t finely tuned yet, I suspect it adds to his pleasure as I make him come.

It isn’t easy to leave the luxurious bed, but when we finally do, it is to take a shower together. We play with the soaps and the waterfall splashing, steam engulfing us. We can’t let go of each other, both of us reining in and ever-so-slightly releasing our abilities, even when we leave the bathroom.

Entangled in the sheets and in each other, we end up back in the bed to give in and finally relax. That is, until hunger arises and I pilfer the room for snacks to share them with Cal. “Still not sated?” he teases.

I shrug. “I guess I’ve never felt so sated in a long time,” I say. I can’t imagine this night ending. We talk and talk, huddled close, until we can stay awake no longer.

* * *

**The sky I** glimpse in the window is as white as the sheets when I wake up. It feels like minutes before I can keep my eyes open and I groan as I lose myself from Cal and shake my wrists. Stretching my torso, I gather a sheet around me for warmth and curse at the peanuts spread everywhere. We ate them last night, but didn’t bother to clean anything up. Sighing, I turn off the lamp we left burning as well with a thought.

Cal hasn’t noticed and sleeps on. I watch him for a while, then flip a peanut in his face. I’m aghast when I hit his eyelid. It starts to flutter, then opens.

His gaze is all confusion, then elation. At seeing me here, with him. I bend over into the warmth he emanates, lie down close to his chest.

“A dream,” he mumbles.

“Oh no,” I say and grin. “Time for breakfast.”

* * *

**Cal called this** morning a dream in sleepy haze, but I find it a truth once we leave my room to return into a bleary outside world.

We’re back in our respective uniforms, official and pristine. I proposed that, and I’m glad about the decision when we walk down the corridors of the palace towards his office. We meet workers, officials and guests on the way and while we can‘t suppose to be hiding our … affair, we avoid to touch in public when we exchange words with the others.

It makes the occasional touches more meaningful, more sensual. Like when he opens the door to his office and takes my hand to lead me inside. We part seconds later when he goes to his chair and I stay on the other side of the desk. _I could sit in his lap again_ , I think. But I remind myself we’re here for business.

I lean over his desk and watch him gather his papers, He seems sobered now, turned serious by the difference in atmosphere. I ponder on his expression, honing the words I’m about to speak. So I don’t hurt him with them.

Looking at the papers he produces, I say carefully, “is that a report on Lady Viper’s recent activities?”

He bites his lip and swallows. Then he nods. “Not that the source is trustworthy. Spies haven’t been close to her, so it’s basically what she wants us to know.”

I turn sideways and sit down on the edge of the desk, prompting Cal to look up to me, expectantly. I give him the satisfaction. “I’ve heard that her children received letters from her a few months ago,” I say. “Probably … as far I can guess, that is, it started an exchange of communication.” I shake my head slightly. “My knowledge is vague, though. Likely it’s private family matters. Because Ptolemus’s wife, Wren Skonos, is pregnant.”

Cal seems curious, but doesn’t reply. I switch to a more direct turn. “Just as likely, they might know more about Lady Viper’s plans.

“Why don’t you talk to your old friend, Ptolemus?” I propose. Cal releases a hoarse laugh. Of course, his friendship to Ptolemus doesn’t seem to have been anything but opportunistic in hindsight. But as I stare on, Cal realizes I’m serious. I see it in his eyes. “I believe Evangeline might be helpful too.”

“If I don’t say what I want to know it for,” he counters.

I shrug. “You need a good disguise for the aim for your visit to Montfort.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Do you have an idea?” he asks. “Would the premier allow such a spontaneous visit? Do you believe I can leave Delphie right now?” I open my mouth, but he goes on, “or will visiting _you_ be enough of a reason for everyone?”

He rises with the words, equalling our eye levels. My grin grows as he looks on and finds the perfect sense on that argumentation.

“Everyone will understand if you need some vacation,” I say. _For love and an investigation._


End file.
